


A series of #3 #word #prompt drabbles

by QueenofThyme



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: #3 #word #prompts, M/M, Tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2018-12-30 19:55:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 38
Words: 50,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12116073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenofThyme/pseuds/QueenofThyme
Summary: As part of a follower celebration on my tumblr, I have accepted 3 word prompts from 100 of my followers and am writing self-contained drabbles, ficlets, etc in line with those prompts. Scroll through the chapter index to find your favourite tropes, AUs, etc.





	1. #couch #laughter #snitch

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter is self contained (unless otherwise specified) so there's no need to read them all or read them in order - just scroll through the chapter index to find what you like, and consider liking or reblogging the posts on tumblr if you like them. :)

Draco walked into the eighth year common room with his head downcast as always. He spoke to no-one. No-one spoke to him. 

He was making a beeline for his favourite armchair right by the fire - it was always empty, everyone knew it was his - when he heard it. Laughter. 

He knew exactly whose laughter and exactly where from. There was no need to look up. But as always, he did.

Harry Potter and his friends, Weasley and Granger, were in their usual spots on the widest, comfiest couch in the room, tucked into a corner by the dormitory stairs. They were all laughing, Potter the loudest of all, while taking turns to grab at the golden snitch zooming above their heads. 

Potter had beaten Draco in the Gryffindor vs Slytherin Quidditch match in the morning. Again. Draco had been training constantly - it’s not like he had much else to do, or anyone else to hang out with - and yet he had still been defeated. It was disheartening. He wondered whether he should just give up on Quidditch. Maybe on Hogwarts too. It’s not like anyone wanted him here.

He was still staring when Potter looked up, his eyes falling on Draco’s. Draco quickly turned his head - making it more obvious he’d been staring - and continued on towards his chair. It was no couch, but it would do.

“Malfoy!” Potter’s voice called out behind him. 

Draco hesitated before turning back. He didn’t want to look too eager. Potter probably just wanted to gloat about the match. 

But when he finally did turn to Potter, the git was already laughing again with his friends again, paying no mind to Draco. 

Draco stomped over, feeling very much like a dog called by his owner. He didn’t like it. He crossed his arms and stared down at the three Gryffindors. 

Potter stood up, the snitch following his movements. He held out a hand. Draco stared at it. 

“Good game, ” Potter said.

Weasley and Granger had stopped laughing. Everything was silent. Draco kept staring at Potter’s hand. It was shaking a little. 

Just when Potter looked like he was about to drop his hand, Draco shot out his own and caught it in a firm shake. Potter’s hand was clammy. 

Potter smiled, as broad as his face. “You flew brilliantly today. It made me nervous.”

“You always fly well,” Malfoy said in return. It came out sounding forced but he meant it. 

“Thanks.” Potter, unlike Draco, had no problem sounding genuine. 

They stood there silently for no longer than a beat but it seemed a very slow, awkward one. Draco nodded politely and moved to walk away. 

“Wait,” Potter called out, louder than required. 

Draco paused. “Yes?”

Another silence. Draco supposed the laughter would start up again as soon he left. His presence seemed to bring everything down. 

As there didn’t seem to any further words coming out of Potter’s mouth, Draco was left to stand there awkwardly. His eyes were drawn to the golden snitch fluttering by Potter’s ear. It was hardly moving now. He could easily reach out and take it. 

So he did. Or at least he tried. The snitch seemed to know he was coming and zoomed to the side at the last millisecond. Draco tried again, the snitch few away. Frustrated, he reached out with both hands, but only continue to grasp air. 

He heard Weasley snigger. His face reddened. He looked like an idiot now. His only saving grace was to actually catch the damn snitch. So he tried again. Nothing. 

Granger was soon laughing too and Draco grew angry. He didn’t like being made the fool. Especially not by the perfect golden trio. 

One last time, he told himself. But once again, his hands closed over nothing, the wings of the snitch just grazing his fingers, always out of reach. 

That’s when the sound hit him: Potter’s laughter. Except this time he was right here with him and not only that, Draco was causing it. And it didn’t sound cruel, or mocking. It didn’t sound like Potter was laughing at him at all. No, it was bubbly and bright and basically what Draco imagined sunshine to sound like. 

Draco dropped his gaze to take in Potter’s face. It really was a sight when he laughed - full and joyful and pure. Draco never wanted to look away. 

His anger had faded, almost as soon as Potter had started laughing, but now Draco’s face was red for another reason entirely. He needed to stop looking at Potter immediately. But he couldn’t. 

When Potter stopped laughing, he seemed to finally find his words from earlier. “You should sit with us.”

Draco blinked. Sit at Potter’s couch? With Granger and Weasley? Surely that’s not what he meant. 

Weasley seemed to have the same though because he blurted out, “What?”

Granger shushed him. 

Draco just stared at Potter. He had no idea how to respond to such a suggestion. He wanted to ask why but the words never came out. Potter seemed to understand regardless.

He leaned in to Draco, close enough that Draco could smell his shampoo, and whispered: “I think you need a laugh.”

Draco agreed.

Laughing didn’t come as easily to Draco as it did to the others. They laughed at silly things. They laughed at things Draco scowled at. And worse of all, they laughed at Draco. Weasley and Granger did at least. Potter had a way of always sounding as if he was laughing with Draco, even if Draco never joined in. 

It wasn’t until Draco found himself alone on the couch with Potter that he finally had a reason to laugh. 

Granger and Weasley had disappeared early in the night. Draco had meant to make an excuse that he needed to study but Potter wouldn’t stop talking and he never found an out. Instead he sat there and listened, mostly quiet, memorising the details of Potter’s face. 

Out of nowhere, Potter said, “You know you can call me Harry, right?”

Draco considered it. Potter came naturally to him. Harry seemed too intimate. Too forward. Too friendly. It made him think. "Why?”

Potter - Harry - blinked back at Draco, his face the depiction of innocence, clearly feigned. “It’s my name.”

Draco tried a different approach. “Are we friends?” The question seemed so childish when said aloud. If he could have, Draco would have snatched it back out of the air. 

Harry frowned, his eyes brows curving inward. “Of course,” he said resolutely. 

Draco allowed himself a sigh. It was a relief to hear. Even after spending so much time with Harry and his friends, he still often felt out of place, like an outsider. 

“But,” Harry continued, causing Draco’s chest to tighten, “I was wondering if - ” Harry paused and coughed unnecessarily. “I was wondering if you might consider - if you’re interested - the possibility of potentially looking into - only if you want - something that could be considered more than a friendship?”

Draco blinked, the words taking a while to form a complete sentence in his head. When they finally came together fully, with the cues from Harry’s blushing face, Draco couldn’t help it. He threw his head back and laughed. It was a mixture of things. The giddiness of Harry liking Draco too thrown together with the ridiculous way Harry had phrased it. Draco hadn’t felt this cheerful in a long time.

But all of a sudden, Draco realised Harry wasn’t laughing. His face had reddened further, and he looked uncertain at Draco’s reaction. Draco had to clear it up.

“Yes, Harry. I will certainly consider - and I am interested in - the possibility of potentially looking into - and I do want - something that could be considered more than a friendship,” He repeated back.

Harry’s face split into a wide smile and Draco couldn’t laugh anymore. Having Harry direct that smile his way had caused the wind to be knocked out of him. And if he was reading the situation right, he was just about to be kissed. His whole body was taut with the anticipation.

Although when Harry leant forward and the hand he was leaning on slipped at the last minute leading to a misplaced kiss on Draco’s chin instead of his lips, Draco found an embarrassing giggle escaping his throat.

And when Harry pulled himself back up, and started laughing too, Draco found that he couldn’t stop. As much as he still wanted that kiss, he didn’t think there could be anything better than laughing with Harry Potter.

(He was wrong.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/165113119536/couch-laughter-snitch)


	2. #dads #sweaters #outdoors

Harry pulled down the sleeve of his - well, Draco’s - sweater. It was chilly. But he wasn’t quite ready to go inside yet. Teddy had been trying out his new broomstick for hours and Harry didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop. Not when his eyes were so wide with childish delight, not when he kept calling out: “Look daddy, look at me!” with those big beautiful smiles. 

Arms wrapped themselves around Harry from behind and he sunk into the embrace, grateful for the warmth.

“You’re wearing my sweater,” Draco chided, his breath warming Harry’s ear. 

“And you’re wearing mine,” Harry countered, eyeing the frayed, too-short red sleeves on Draco’s arms. 

“Only because I couldn’t find mine. I did have a suspicion…”

Harry leant his head back into Draco’s neck and breathed in. “It smells like you.”

Draco looked down at Harry with amusement. “I smell like me.”

“You were at work.”

“I’m here now.”

Harry breathed in again and closed his eyes, relaxing in the comforting smell of his husband. “Yes, yes you are.”

Despite the coldness of the evening closing in, Harry would have been content to stay in those arms, right where they were forever. But a startled scream from Teddy wrenched Harry’s eyes back open.

Draco acted quickly, detangled himself from Harry and apparating to Teddy’s side where he had fallen in the dirt, while Harry calmly walked the five metres. 

“Teddy? Ted? Are you hurt?” Draco’s voice was high pitched and panicked, like it always became at the smallest injury. Harry couldn’t give himself a papercut without getting the full healer treatment from Draco. Not that he minded.

As Harry knew he would – the broomstick was charmed only to hover not fly, and Teddy had already fallen off many times - Teddy jumped up laughing, no damage but the dirt on his face. “Did you see that, daddy?” He said to Draco excitedly. “Did you see? I did a wonky fete!”

Draco pulled Teddy into a tight hug and looked back over his shoulder at Harry. “You taught a four-year-old the Wronski Feint?”

Harry shrugged. “Ginny told him about it last week.”

Draco turned back to Teddy. “Maybe our Quidditch superstar is finished for the day, hey Ted? Are you hungry? Shall we head in for dinner?" 

Teddy crossed his arms. "As long as it’s not soup.” He screwed up in his face in distaste. He hated all things mushy.

Harry laughed, ignoring a sharp look from Draco – soup was his speciality, his only speciality. “Don’t worry, Teddy, I’m cooking tonight. Daddy Draco’s tired from work.”

Draco stood up and turned to Harry. “I’m not tired. I can cook,” he said stubbornly.

Teddy made a sour retching face at Harry behind Draco’s back. Harry couldn’t help but stick his tongue out in response. 

Of course Draco noticed that and swiveled back around. Teddy quickly changed his face to an innocent smile but he was too late. Draco had caught him.

“Now you’ve done it,” Harry warned.

Teddy screamed in glee and ran while Draco chased him around the yard, slowing his pace to allow Teddy to evade his clutches a few times until: “Gotcha!”

Harry watched fondly as Draco pulled a giggling Teddy into a tight embrace, peppering raspberries all over his face. At first Harry had been surprised how affectionate and loving Draco was, both to him and to Teddy, but the more time he spent with Draco, the more he realised it made perfect sense. 

Now, three years later, Draco was his husband, and another father to Teddy. And Harry was absolutely and completely in love with him. 

Harry found his way over to Draco and Teddy - by walking, not apparating - and joined in on the hug. And because his heart was overflowing with the words: “I love you both.”

“We love you too, daddy!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/165114386861/dads-sweaters-outdoors)


	3. #cuddles #weasleys #blushing

Draco felt out of place. His platinum blonde hair stood out amongst the sea of red. He had met so many Weasleys in the space of twenty minutes that he couldn’t even remember a single name.

Harry had left him alone as soon as they’d arrived so he had been forced to introduce himself awkwardly to all the Weasley cousins. They all seemed to know who he was already. And not in the usual  _he’s a death eater_  kind of way, but in a giggling  _oh, you’re_ that _Draco_ kind of way.

It made him wonder what Harry had told them and if he’d mentioned…the incident. Draco had been friends with Harry for most of eighth year, and in love with him for most of his teenage life. And two weeks ago, one of his wildest dreams had come true – Harry had kissed him.

They’d been sneaking down to the kitchens late at night in Harry’s invisibility cloak when Draco had accidentally knocked into a suit of armor and brought about a racket enough to wake everyone in the castle up. Knowing a teacher wouldn’t be far away, and not trusting the invisibility cloak to save them, they’d dashed into the first broom cupboard they could find, both stifling their laughter.

Draco hardly had time to consider the situation they’d gotten themselves into, particularly the proximity of Harry’s body to him in the small space, when Harry had leaned up and kissed him. Just like that. No warning. Draco’s face flared red immediately of course. Harry Potter was  _kissing_ him. And Draco was – at least he hoped, he was a little too dazed to concentrate properly – kissing him back.

It was perfect.

But then the door had swung open and a hand pulled the invisibility cloak off him – the teachers weren’t stupid – so they’d stopped. And they hadn’t talked about it since.

Harry was acting exactly the same as before, as if nothing had happened. And Draco didn’t know what to make of that. Didn’t know how to behave now he had fallen even deeper for Harry Potter.

And worse now, Harry had convinced him to come to the Weasley’s Christmas party and then had left him alone. It enough to drive anyone up the wall. And Draco wasn’t known for being particularly patient.

After being introduced to a middle-aged lady who called herself Muriel the second, Draco excused himself into the house. He had to find Harry and tell him he’d had enough. That he was going home.

Draco finally found him in the attic with Ron and Hermione. They were talking in hushed voices and Harry was holding something in his –

“Draco!” Harry said standing up and hiding whatever he was holding behind his back. “What are you doing here?”

That stung. “You invited me remember. But don’t worry, I’m leaving now.”

Harry hurried forward, his hands still behind his back. “But - But you can’t leave.”

“I can do whatever I want, especially when I’m being ignored.” Draco turned and headed back down the stairs. He wanted to run away but he had to preserve his dignity. Instead he would walk calmly to the apparition point, disapparate to the Manor and never leave home again. Perhaps he was being dramatic, but what else could he be when he felt like his heart had been stomped on?

Leaving turned out to be a lot more difficult than he’d anticipated. Everywhere he turned, there was another Weasley in front of him and they’d all remembered his name.

“Have you tried the fruit cake, Draco?”

“Would you mind awfully taking a photo of Philias and I, Draco?”

“Draco, be a dear and help me move this table?”

“I insist we discuss Potions, Draco, I’ve been told you’re quite the prodigy?”

Being well graced in polite society, Draco was forced to delay his departure to appease all the Weasleys – somehow, they seemed to be multiplying.

He had almost reached his way across the yard when Ron and Hermione caught up to him.

“Are you really this daft?” Ron started, but Hermione shushed him.

“Harry hasn’t been ignoring you,” she said with a gentle smile.

“Then why – “

Ron pulled a small plant from his pocket with bright red berries. “It’s mistletoe,” he explained. “Harry was going to use it as an excuse to kiss you again.”

There were so many things Draco wanted to say, wanted to ask. But the only words he could manage were, “That’s not mistletoe.”

“Yes it – “

“Actually, Ron,” Hermione interrupted. “It’s Holly. Mistletoe has white berries.” She turned to Draco. “But that hardly matters, does it? Harry likes you, Draco. It’s obvious. He invited you here as his date, you realise?”

“His date?” Draco repeated. There was a roaring sound in his ears that he didn’t particularly mind. Harry liked him. Harry wanted to kiss him again.

And then through the mass of redheads, Draco saw, behind Ron and Hermione, a jet-black head bobbing towards them. He acted instinctively with a wordless  _Wingardium Leviosa._

The Weasleys parted and there was Harry, as frustratingly gorgeous as always, staring at Draco as if, as if he really did like him. Shit. Draco was already blushing.

“Draco,” Harry said moving forward to stand in front of Draco, “You’re still here.” He sounded relieved.

Draco let his eyes dart up to the holly above them, so Harry would notice. “I’ve been waiting for something. Or someone.”

When he looked back down to Harry, he was pleased – and relieved – to find his cheeks were flaming as well. They may not have had the red hair, but they were certainly colour-matching the Weasley clan now.

The loud Weasley chatter around the yard had quieted. Everything was still. It seemed everyone was watching Harry and Draco.

Draco supposed he would have to be the brave one. He had never been before. But even though he was in unfamiliar territory with unfamiliar people, he somehow felt comfortable. Felt safe. So, he leaned forward and planted a kiss on Harry Potter, to the cheers and applause of the entire Weasley family.

When they split apart, Draco had no time to talk to Harry, as they were both pulled into separate hugs by Weasley family members. And it kept going – Draco received hugs and pats on the back from what seemed like everyone at the party.  There were words of encouragement too:

“Good on you, Draco.”

“Always knew it was mutual.”

“We’d heard enough of Harry’s pining, you know?”

And Draco’s favourite:

“Welcome to the family.”

Draco caught Harry’s eye – he was currently enveloped in Molly Weasley’s arms – and smiled. For the first time, Draco felt like perhaps he belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/165131012241/cuddles-weasleys-blushing)


	4. #draco #acne #hurt/comfort

There was nothing a well-placed glamour couldn’t fix. That’s what Pansy had told him, back in third year. But they didn’t know then how exhausting it was to maintain a glamour spell every day of your life. Draco knew now.

He was always tired. Always on edge. But he couldn’t lose his concentration, not even for a second. If his glamour dropped, everyone would see what he really looked like. Ugly. Scarred. Disgusting.

If it wasn’t already hard enough, eighth year provided a new challenge. He had been assigned to room with Harry Potter. Curious, intrusive, stubborn Harry Potter. If he were to catch the slightest hint that Draco was hiding something from him, Draco knew Harry would stop at nothing to uncover the truth.

Draco had to be careful. But that wasn’t easy through his exhaustion. And especially not easy when Harry was trying so hard to be his friend. He wanted to talk to Draco after dinner, wanted to get to know him. But all Draco wanted to do at night was be alone and sleep. It was the only time he could ever drop his glamour, ever truly relax.

He would pull up the curtains around his bed, cast as many privacy and warding spells he had the strength to, and then finally let his guard drop, let his real face be revealed, if only to himself. Despite the smooth pale skin everyone else saw during the day, Draco’s face was red and blotchy, covered with acne and large angry scars from the times Draco had tried to curse the spots off.

Nobody had seen how bad Draco’s acne had gotten, not even Pansy. He’d researched magical cures on his own in the library, but nothing ever seemed to work. Once he found a spell that cleared his skin immediately and he spent a whole day without a glamour. But that night, the acne had returned with a vengeance, and even worse, it had also creeped down onto his neck as well. He never tried the spell again.

Of course, Harry became suspicious. Perhaps he was also hurt that Draco dismissed his attempts at conversation most nights, in favour of sleeping. Regardless, he was probing. And Draco didn’t know how much longer he could keep up the façade.

One night, when Draco tried to excuse himself, Harry stopped him.

“What’s going on with you?” Harry asked.

Draco shrugged without meeting his eye. “Nothing. I’m tired.” He closed his bed curtains and pulled out his wand to –

Harry yanked the bed curtains back open. He was standing over Draco’s bed. “Stop running away from me. I want to help.”

“You can’t help.” Draco lifted a hand to close the bed curtains again, but Harry’s hand closed over his own, holding the curtain in place.

“Let me try,” Harry said. “I know there’s something you’re hiding. You don’t have to deal with it alone.”

Again, Draco, tried to close the curtains, but Harry was much stronger. Much less tired. “I don’t want your help,” Draco said, and then because he could feel his glamour slipping, “Leave me alone!”

Harry’s hand dropped and Draco wasted no time in closing the curtains. His had no choice but to release his glamour, the strain too much on him, even before he’d casted any privacy spells. There were tears spilling out of his eyes. An involuntary sob escaped his throat.

“Draco, are you – “ Harry, having no understanding of boundaries, yanked the curtain back open again.

Draco blanched, waiting for Harry to scream, or run, or laugh. But he didn’t do any of those things. At first, his face clearly showed his surprise, but he quickly controlled it.

‘Is that – is this why – “ Harry stopped and sat on the bed, his eyes never leaving Draco’s face. And then: “Draco, you’re beautiful.”

If anyone else had said it, Draco would have known they were lying, just trying to make him feel better. But when Harry said it like that, so sweet, so genuine, he could almost believe it.

And when Harry leaned in and kissed him, so gentle, without hesitation, without even flinching at the scars all over Draco’s face, for the first time, he really did believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/165134838966/draco-acne-hurtcomfort)


	5. #angst #fluff #smut

**5th June 1997**

He didn’t have much time. The school year was all but over. If he didn’t fix the vanishing cabinet soon he would be killed. His family would be killed. As Draco had come to know all too well, The Dark Lord was not a patient man.

He’d made progress. With the cabinet that is. While he concentrated on fixing it, he didn’t have to think about why it needed to work, about what (or who) it was supposed to be used for. He could just consume himself in its magical properties and rejig mindlessly. But the closer he came to fixing it, the more his work slowed, the more the unwelcome thoughts came creeping in.

It became impossible to deny that his success with the cabinet would directly lead to Dumbledore’s death, and that he would be expected to do it with his own hand. To look the old man in the face and – well, he couldn’t bear to think about it.

There was a part of Draco that was glad every time one of his tests failed. Another, less brave part, the bigger part of him, was terrified. Petrified. He had to make it work. Failure was not an option. Failure was death.

There was too much at stake to give a single thought to celebrating his birthday.

**5th June 1998**

He didn’t know how Potter knew it was his birthday. He purposefully hadn’t said anything. But here Potter was at his door, singing some silly muggle song and holding a French Apple Cake. Draco’s favourite – he hadn’t said anything about that either, had he?

Draco opened the door to invite Potter in, careful not to step outside the boundary of his doorway, lest he violate his house arrest and end up in Azkaban with his father. Potter bounded in, and made his own way to the kitchen. He had become quite familiar with the Manor over the last few weeks, visiting almost daily, despite Draco’s original protests (which had quickly faded).

Draco eagerly followed Potter into the kitchen – although he didn’t usually care much for his birthday, he couldn’t deny the appeal of apple cake. He only hoped Potter hadn’t burnt the crust as most amateurs were wont to do.

Potter hadn’t burnt the crust. And he was quite intent on ensuring Draco actually celebrated his birthday. Which, Draco supposed, was a lot easier in the company of Harry Potter. Not that he was planning on admitting it. But it was probably obvious when – midway through Potter’s third rendition of “Happy Birthday” - Draco grabbed Potter’s shirt and yanked him into his arms so he could shut him up with a kiss.

Potter kissing him back was the best birthday gift he could remember receiving.

**5th June 1999**

Draco held back a gasp. Harry was in Draco’s office – in the middle of the Ministry of Magic – atop his desk, completely naked.

Draco had only just left Harry at home, flooed to the Ministry lobby, and taken the lift up to his office. Harry must have been right behind him, must have run through the lobby, must have just managed to catch the lift prior before vanishing his clothes…and sure enough, now that Draco was looking, he could see the beads of sweat running down Harry’s (naked) chest.

As surprises go, it was very bold. And very Harry.

Since it was his birthday, and Harry was clearly his birthday present, Draco allowed himself to stare. That always made Harry nervous. When they were making love, Harry was confident, unashamed, delightfully wild. But in the moments between, in the silence and the stillness, Harry became shy. Those moments were Draco’s favourites.

He let his eyes rove slowly across Harry’s body, so Harry could watch every movement, so he would know exactly when Draco’s eyes fell down to find Harry hard and waiting. Harry appeared to grow harder still beneath Draco’s gaze.

When Draco looked back to Harry’s face, he was pleased to see a blush creeping up his boyfriend’s neck. Oh yes, this present would do nicely.

Draco knew he would be having a  _very_  happy birthday this year indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/165140914646/angst-fluff-smut)


	6. #day #after #wedding

It was something Harry had seen in muggle movies as a kid. The sunlight would stream in from the window, highlighting the sleeping face of the heroine. The protagonist would stare at their lover fondly and have an epiphany, or realise their love.

Harry found himself thinking of that now as he stared at Draco sleeping beside him. Only there was no sunlight. There didn’t need to be. Draco radiated a light all on his own. And there was no epiphany for Harry either. No realisation. Only confirmation he had made the right choice.

If it really were a movie, he would reach a hand out and stroke Draco’s face, or place a stray hair behind his ear. But Draco didn’t like to be touched in his sleep. Didn’t like to be caught unaware. After what he’d been through, Harry could understand that. He had similar fears. Although he was quite amenable to waking up to Draco’s touch. Not that he did much. Draco slept in late these days.

Harry had learnt early on that the longer Draco slept, the safer he felt. When they first starting dating, Draco hardly slept at all when Harry stayed the night, and he refused to even try Harry’s bed. But after time, the trust grew, and now Draco always slept longer with Harry. Not that they slept apart much anymore. Only occasionally when Harry worked overnight on a case.

Draco smiled in his sleep. It was only small but it was enough to bring a flutter to Harry’s heart. Even after all this time, a smile from Draco was enough to make Harry weak. In the best possible way.

“I know you’re watching me,” Draco mumbled, his eyes still closed. One of his hands found Harry’s and held it, tracing the new band on Harry’s ring finger.  

Harry wondered what Draco would think if he knew Harry had been comparing their morning to muggle movies. He smiled, realising Draco made quite the unconventional heroine.

‘Good morning, husband.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/165144332111/day-after-wedding)


	7. #fluff #wrong number #texting

Malfoy opened the door in a silk robe. Harry nearly choked.

“What are you doing here?” Malfoy asked.

Harry blinked. “You asked me over.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Potter, I did no such thing. Why would you – “

Harry pulled out his phone for the evidence and showed it to Draco.

  


Now it was Malfoy’s turn to choke. His face went beet red. “That wasn’t meant for you.”

Harry eyed the silk robe. “ _Clearly_.”

Malfoy tugged the robe tighter over his chest and crossed his arms. “But you came.”

Harry shrugged. “I was curious.”  _And hopeful._

“Come in, then.”

“What?”

“My intended guest clearly isn’t coming so it’s not like I have anything better to do,” Malfoy said, avoiding Harry’s eyes.

“Charming,” retorted Harry. The offer wasn’t particularly convincing. He had known the text was too good to be true. He made to turn away.

“Wait, Potter,” Draco said, stopping him, “I didn’t mean – Look, I’m sorry.” He sighed, like he really didn’t want to have to say it: “I’d like you to stay.”

Now that was more like it. Harry stepped inside and followed Malfoy into the Sitting Room. He kept his eyes high, trying not to notice how short the robe was from behind. It didn’t appear as if Malfoy was wearing any underwear.

“Can I get you a drink?” Malfoy asked, once Harry had sat down.

Harry gulped. The robe appeared even shorter from this vantage point. “Sure.”

Malfoy disappeared into the Manor and appeared minutes later, two glasses of firewhiskey in hand. He passed one to Harry and then took a seat on the armchair opposite, crossing his legs demurely – which was a necessity in his getup.

Harry took a large swig of his glass. “Aren’t you going to change?”

Malfoy’s raised his eyebrows. “You have a problem, Potter?

“No,” Harry squeaked. Yes, actually squeaked.

Malfoy laughed at that, but he did pull down on the hem of his robe to cover his legs a little further.  “I don’t usually – I’m not usually this forward,” he explained.

“Must be someone special.”

Malfoy frowned. “Not not really. No at all. I’m actually glad I – “ He stopped himself, his eyes darting to Harry sharply. “Well, I just mean it’s probably best I didn’t text them.”

“Instead, you got me.”

“I certainly would have dressed differently if I’d known. You wouldn’t see me like this until at least the second date.”

Harry held back a smile. “So is this a date now?”

“It could be,” Malfoy said, his eyes on his firewhiskey as he swished it around in his glass like it were wine.

“But is it?” Harry pushed.

Malfoy looked up. “You tell me.”

“You’re the one who answered the door half naked.”

Malfoy’s lips quirked up. “So, I’ve already lost some of my dignity tonight. I’d say it’s your turn.”

Harry downed the rest of his firewhiskey. “It’s a date,” he decided.

‘You always were the brave one,” Malfoy said, following Harry’s actions and finishing his own firewhiskey. He placed the empty glass down and moved his hands to the tie of his robe. “So if this is a date, I guess I can show you what’s underneath the robe now.”

“I – er – um – I – “ Harry spluttered, his face heating up at the thought.

Malfoy laughed and dropped his hands. “Calm down, Potter. I’m only teasing. Not until the second date, remember? Tonight we talk. And eat. How do you feel about soup? It’s the only thing I can cook.”

Harry relaxed. “Perfect.”

* * *

 

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/165146930226/fluff-wrong-number-texting)


	8. #omegaverse #mutual pining #angst

It comes out of absolutely nowhere. One moment Harry is sitting in Charms class, innocently focusing on the lesson, the next he’s fantasizing in great detail about fucking Draco Malfoy.

All his senses are honed into Malfoy, sitting two rows ahead of him. And look, it’s not like Harry hasn’t thought about it before, but not like this. Not so strongly that he can’t think of anything else. Not so wildly that he wouldn’t be opposed to doing it in the middle of the class, students and teacher be damned.

Malfoy is squirming in his seat, restlessly fidgeting, and Harry isn’t sure how, but he can tell Malfoy is aroused as well. Can tell the bead of sweat dripping down the back of Malfoy’s red neck is a sign of it. Can tell that Malfoy would certainly be open to a mid-class fucking. Except how can he know that? It must all be wishful thinking, a product of his own arousal.

Although when Malfoy excuses himself and strides past Harry to the door, there’s no mistaking the lustful stare directed Harry’s way, or the smell of Malfoy’s arousal. The smell? What the fuck.

Harry quickly excuses himself, not even bothering to come up with a reason, and follows Malfoy out into the corridor, all his senses on fire. Malfoy is waiting for him, pacing the hallway, his eyes filling with heat as Harry approaches.

Without thinking, Harry grabs hold of Malfoy and slams him against the wall, ready to ravish him completely, right here in the open. But a tiny glimmer of fear shows in Malfoy’s eyes amongst his arousal and the charm is broken.

Harry takes a step back, blinking. What was he just about to do? “Sorry. I didn’t mean to – “

Malfoy laughs humourlessly, cutting Harry off. “Harry Potter is an alpha. Of fucking course. _I_  was supposed to be an alpha.”

“An alpha?” Harry repeats. His brain is foggy from suppressing his arousal. “What are you talking about?”

“How do I even explain? It’s – look, you’re an alpha. The top dog. The lead. The  _dominant_  one,” he says resentfully. “I’m, well, I don’t know what I am now.” He slumps back up against the wall.

Harry still doesn’t quite understand. But he can hardly see how his “alpha” status, whatever it is, has any influence on Malfoy’s. “Can’t you be an alpha too?” He asks.

Malfoy rolls his eyes at Harry’s naivety. “We can’t  _both_ be alphas.”

“Why not?”

“It’s – that’s not how it works. It’s not natural.”

Harry snorts.  It’s a piss-poor explanation. “People still think it’s not natural for same gender couples to be together and that’s stupid. So, you saying we can’t both be alphas is stupid as well.”

Malfoy’s face screws up. He takes a step forward, using his slight height on Harry to his advantage. “You clearly don’t know anything so why don’t you keep your mouth shut?”

Harry gulps. This shouldn’t be arousing. “If you’re not an alpha, then why are you being so aggressive?”

There’s a glint in Malfoy’s eye then. He likes that. He grabs a hold of Harry’s shirt and flips them around, pushing Harry against the corridor wall now. He leans in, so Harry can feel the heat of his breath. “Maybe I  _am_  the alpha. Maybe you’re an  _omega._ ”

An omega? Harry knocks Malfoy’s arm away. “I don’t know what I fucking am.”

“Well, neither do I.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

They’re both breathing heavily, snapping at each other as if it were foreplay. No, Harry has to get a hold of himself. His brain is filling his thoughts with all sorts of arousing images and Malfoy’s proximity is not helping in the slightest. Where had this all come from?

“So why do we – why do I – “

“ - have a hard on for me right now?” Malfoy suggests.

“Fucking Christ, Malfoy,” Harry yells – because Malfoy’s right of course – “Can we just have a proper conversation for once?”

Malfoy, the bloody git, licks his lips. “I thought that’s what we were doing.”

Harry closes his eyes trying not to imagine that tongue…”You’re being purposefully provocative and it’s not helping right now.”

“Oh! You find me provocative, do you Potter? Am I  _affecting_  you?

Harry opens his eyes to find Malfoy staring openly at his crotch. Good god, he hopes it’s not obvious. “That’s not what I meant. Just – how do we fix this?”

Malfoy lifts his gaze. “Isn’t it obvious? What does an animal do when they’re in heat?”

“We’re not animals. I’m not just going to fuck you because my body feels like it.”

Malfoy’s face lights up. Shit. He hadn’t meant to say it like that. “Knew you had a hard on for me. And why not? That’s what fucking is. And my body feels like it too.”

Harry tries to ignore the last part, as much as it sets him aflame. He can’t think about Malfoy’s body right now. He can’t lose control. “I don’t want it to be forced.”

“It’s not forced. We both want it.”

“But you don’t  _really_ want it. We should just wait it out,” Harry suggests through gritted teeth. He doesn’t want to, of course. He wants to fuck Malfoy continuously for the next 24 hours, maybe more. But his resolve is strong. No desire could ever be enough to take advantage of Malfoy like that.

Malfoy’s eyes threaten to bug out of their sockets. “Wait it out?” He repeats incredulously. “Wait it out!? You want me to wait this out? Are you fucking kidding me, Potter?” He lets out a frustrated growl. “Why do you have to be so noble all the time?” He moves in closer to Harry. “I know you want me so let’s fu – Granger!”

They both turn to Hermione standing in the doorway, her eyes wide. “Flitwick wanted me to check on you two,” She explains, eyes darting between them. “Are you  _fighting_?”

Malfoy laughs. “Well, we’re certainly not fucking, thanks to goody two shoes over here.” He jerks a hand to Harry.

“Shut up, Malfoy.” Harry turns to Hermione. As humiliating as this is, maybe she can help. “He said something about me being an alpha? Have you read – “

“Oh!” Hermione’s face reddens. She clearly has read something about it. “Yes. I’ll just leave then.” She turns to the classroom door.

“No, don’t leave,” Harry calls out desperately. If he’s left alone with Malfoy... “I don’t want to – “

Hermione turns back around, eyes narrowed, her curiosity clearly getting the better of her. “You don’t want to? Are you sure you’re an alpha?”

“That’s what Malfoy – “

“He’s being  _noble_ ,” interrupts Malfoy, his tone showing his disgust at the trait. “He doesn’t want to pressure me into anything I wouldn’t normally do.”

“Oh.” Hermione looks awfully uncomfortable. “Well, the sexual attraction only occurs if you’re already romantically attracted to the person. So, if you’re both – um. Right, I might just leave you to it.” She’s back inside the classroom before Harry can stop her again. Although, he’s not sure he wants to anymore.

Harry turns to Malfoy to find him grinning wickedly.

“A-ha! Potter, do you have a little crush on me, do you?” He teases, leaning in to –

Harry grabs Malfoy and switches their positions, holding him up against the wall once more. “And how long have you been pining after me, Malfoy?”

Malfoy stares right back at Harry, his chin up. “What’s it to you?”

Harry can’t look away, hypnotized by Malfoy’s eyes. He swallows. “Who do you think the alpha is now?”

Malfoy shrugs, jerking his hips forward to collide with Harry’s. “Maybe you were right. Maybe we both are.”

Harry suppresses a groan at the contact. “Why don’t we find out?”

Malfoy doesn’t answer verbally, but he gives a clear indication of his feelings towards the suggestion, when he pulls Harry in for a frenzied kiss.

 

* * *

 

 

**Meanwhile inside the charms classroom:**

“Can I hear – “

“Yes, Ronald. Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/165170059711/omegaverse-mutual-pining-angst)


	9. #angst #comfort #teacher

Harry was on his way to the kitchens during one of his free periods – it wasn’t technically breaking the rules to visit now that he was a Hogwarts teacher – when he heard it.

“- said no. That’s dangerous. Put it down please Miss Perkins. Mr Calloway! That’s not for –“

Harry ducked his head into the classroom. Malfoy was running around the room frantically, putting out fires – both metaphorically and one real one. He had clearly lost all control over his students.

Harry had become a teacher as soon as Hogwarts had reopened – he’d already had some practice teaching from his time leading Dumbledore’s Army, and of course his status as the Wizarding World’s saviour made it quite easy to win the respect of his students.

Malfoy, on the other hand, well, it had taken him a few years to rejoin the wizarding world – he and his mother had travelled for a while, keeping out of sight. And after that it was still difficult for him to find a job – nobody wanted to employ an ex death eater. Malfoy didn’t know it, but Harry had convinced McGonagall to invite Malfoy in for an interview this year – seeing as the Potions Teacher position was open.

The interview had gone well – Malfoy had been quietly studying Potions in his time abroad and was always something of a prodigy anyway – but when it came to the actual classes…the students were ruthless. They weren’t as forgiving as Harry, not as eager to show an ex-death eater their respect. It didn’t help that Malfoy overcompensated by being a pushover – he must not have wanted to give parents any reason to accuse him of cruelty.

Harry couldn’t stand watching any longer. He walked into the room. “Silence!” He said loudly over the racket.

The students all paused and turned to face him, their demeanor changing instantly. It wasn’t that they were afraid of him. That wasn’t how to teach. It was respect.

“Miss Perkins,” Harry began gently, “Please return the bubotuber pus to the storerooms. You are not to touch top shelf ingredients until fifth year. Mr Calloway, please do not place your cauldron on the open flames upside down. It will become damaged and I’m sure your parents won’t be keen on replacing it out of their pocket. As for the rest of you, there’s only twenty minutes remaining of class, I suggest you make headway on your potion. What is it they are supposed to be making, Professor Malfoy?”

He turned to Malfoy for the first time since entering, and was fixed with a steely glare. Perhaps interrupting the class had been too far.

“Pepperup Potion,” Malfoy replied through gritted teeth. Yes, definitely too far.

Harry cleared his throat. “You heard the Professor. Pepperup Potion. Get to it.” He made to leave, but Malfoy stopped him, an arm on his elbow.

“Going so soon,  _Professor_  Potter? Perhaps you should just finish the class for me?” He whispered snidely.

“I didn’t mean to overstep my – “

“But that’s what you always do, isn’t it? You always have to play the hero.”

“You can talk – if you weren’t always playing the damsel in distress, I wouldn’t have to save you so much,” Harry retorted, careful to keep his voice down. He didn’t want to argue in front of students. “Besides, you’ve never complained before. I thought perhaps you liked it when I came to your rescue.” Or flirt in front of students.

Malfoy’s face reddened delightfully. “I don’t need – I can handle my students on my own.”

But he couldn’t. Harry had already seen that.

Harry leaned in closer, keeping his voice low. “Look, Malfoy, you don’t have to be cruel. But you can’t let them get away with things either. If you show weakness, even for a second, they all see it. The trick is to sound like you have control even as it’s slipping through your fingers. I know you’re good at what you do, and I bet you can be a great teacher. You just need to be strong.”

Malfoy’s nostrils flared, and Harry suspected he was considering the consequences of punching Harry in the middle of a classroom but after a moment he relaxed, dropped the tension from his shoulders and nodded at Harry. “Thank you,” he said so quietly Harry wondered if he had imagined it.

Harry decided to go for broke. “I could always give you some more tips, you know, over a drink at Rosemerta’s?”

Malfoy’s eyebrows jumped up to the very top of his head. “Are you asking me on a  _date_?” He whispered, his eyes darting between the students and Harry.

Harry saw something in Malfoy’s eyes that gave him the confidence to be upfront about it. Playing coy was their teenage game. “Yes,” he said simply.

Malfoy hesitated a moment – Harry suspected he was also battling the same internal struggle – before agreeing with a quiet: “Okay.”

Harry smiled in glee. He raised his voice: “Pick me up at seven?”

Malfoy’s eyes widened. The students all looked up. Malfoy nodded with the slightest tilt of his head.

Harry winked. “It’s a date!” He called out loudly as he left the room.

He could hear the students behind him:

“Are you seeing Professor Potter, Professor Malfoy?”

“Does he still have the Elder Wand, Professor Malfoy?”

“Is it true that he died twice, Professor Malfoy? He won’t tell us. But if you’re dating – “

Malfoy’s voice rang out into the hallway: “You can ask questions about Professor Potter  _after_  you’ve finished your potions.”

Harry smiled. Malfoy would earn their respect by his own merit soon enough. In the meantime, Harry was happy to help, especially if it meant he got to date  _Professor Malfoy_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/165177336141/angst-comfort-teacher)


	10. #sass #angst #sexy times

“Move out of my way, Potter.”

Harry stood his ground. “ _Your_  way? I didn’t realise your daddy owned the footpaths.”

Malfoy scowled. “Don’t bring my da – my father into this.”

Harry shrugged – he knew it would infuriate Malfoy. “Then don’t claim to own things that aren’t yours.”

“What do you want, Potter?” Malfoy asked, crossing his arms.

“From you?” Harry pretended to think. “Oh nothing. I’m just standing here.” He had been going for a walk of the grounds, but standing put here, irritating Malfoy, was a much better option.

“If you don’t move – “

“You’ll what?” Harry interrupted. “Calmly walk around me and get a bit of grass on your shoe? Sounds terrifying.”

“You – you can’t just stand in the middle of the footpath!” Malfoy yelled, his indignance marred by the ridiculousness of what he was saying.

“Says who?”

“Me.”

Harry smiled. This was too easy. “Ah, well we might have an issue then.”

“What?” Barked Malfoy, his impatience showing.

“I don’t take orders from you.”

Malfoy blinked, and hesitated for just a second too long. “Well, I don’t take orders from you either.”

“That remains to be seen.”

Malfoy huffed. “You expect me to walk around you.”

“Yes.”

Harry watched Malfoy eye the grass around them. It was slightly wet from the rain earlier in the morning but nothing to make a fuss about. He let out an exasperated sign and looked back up to Harry, gesturing wildly with his arms. “Why are you standing there?”

“Why are you standing  _there_?” Harry countered.

“Because I’m trying to – merlin, Potter, fine.” Malfoy stomped around Harry and then swivelled around to face him again. “Are you happy now?”

Harry wanted to burst into laughter, but it was much more fun to remain composed – that seemed to be the easiest and most effective way of infuriating Malfoy. “Marginally.”

“And you’re just going to keep standing there now?”

Harry nodded. “For now.”

“Why?”

Harry looked Malfoy up and down, slowly. “I could ask you the same question.”

“What – oh – that’s not – I’m leaving.” Malfoy said without moving.

“Are you?” Harry asked, unable to stop his lip curing upwards. This was just too funny.

“Yes.” Malfoy didn’t move.

“Go on, then,” Harry urged.

“Fine.” He hesitated a moment longer as if waiting for Harry to say something else and then turned on the spot, beginning to stomp away.

“Wait,” Harry called out. “Stay.”

Malfoy turned back to face him immediately. “Yes?”

Harry smirked. This was child’s play. “Nothing. Just wanted to see if you’d do it.”

Malfoy’s face went bright red. “You – you  - urgh.” He threw his arms up in the air in frustration and continued his stomping.

And because Harry couldn’t help himself: “When you realise you do like taking orders, Malfoy, you know where to find me.”

Malfoy didn’t turn but Harry could tell he heard – there was a slight hesitation between stomps, the red flush spreading to the back of his neck, his fists tightening.

Only when Malfoy was out of sight, did Harry continue his own walk in the opposite direction.

* * *

“Where have you been?”

Harry looked up from his Potions textbook to find Malfoy standing over him. He’d been trying to get in a bit of quiet study in the common room before retiring for the night but now it looked like that would be impossible.

“What?”

“I’ve been waiting at your footpath for hours,” Malfoy said, clearly in a sulk over it.

“ _My_  footpath?” Harry repeated. Surely he didn’t mean…

“You said I’d know where to find you,” Malfoy accused.

Harry closed his textbook with a snap. “I was sassing you, Malfoy, I didn’t actually expect –  _hours_?  _Really?_ ”

Malfoy shrugged, probably realising he’d revealed too much in his anger. “Minutes, I mean. I was exaggerating.”

“Tell the truth,” Harry demanded. Did he imagine the spark of desire in Malfoy’s eyes at the order?

“Just over two hours,” Malfoy answered immediately.  _Obediently_. Harry had mostly been joking when they’d met earlier, just trying to get a rise out of Malfoy. But if Malfoy wanted to play this game, Harry was definitely on board.

“So, you realised a few things, did you?” Harry asked.

Malfoy muttered an answer under his breath. Harry heard it but made him say it again anyway: “Louder.”

“Yes,” Malfoy all but yelled, drawing the attention of a few stragglers around the common room.

Harry kept his voice to a whisper. “What did you realise?”

“I like it when you…” Malfoy trailed off, looking around nervously.

“When I what?” Harry prompted, his eyes glued to Malfoy’s face. There was an adorable pink tint to the sharp edges of Malfoy’s cheekbones.

“When you tell me what to do,” Malfoy finished quietly.

Harry gulped. “And what do you want me to tell you to do?”

Malfoy loosened his tie. Harry’s eyes followed the movement. “You know.”

Harry laughed. As if he was going to let Malfoy get away with an answer like that.

“I’m afraid I don’t, Malfoy, so if you’re not willing to share, there’s nothing – “

“Fine,” Malfoy snapped. “I’ll tell you, but - “ he looked around again – “can we go somewhere a bit more private?”

Merlin. Harry took a deep breath, and straightened his posture, looking up at Malfoy intently. “Go to my dormroom. Strip. Leave the door unlocked.”

And now Harry was certain he wasn’t imagining it – Malfoy’s eyes lit up at the order. “But what if – “

“Do you trust me?” Harry interrupted.

Immediately: “Yes.”

Harry reopened his textbook and waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll be up in a minute.”

He watched through his peripheral vision as Malfoy practically sprinted up the stairs to his dormitory. He couldn’t help but think that he’d stumbled across a rather marvellous discovery today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/165184538156/sass-angst-sexy-times)


	11. #eighth year #angst #bed sharing

Harry woke up to a half-naked Draco Malfoy standing over his bed. At first he thought he was still dreaming until Malfoy called out to him:

“Potter. Potter, wake up.”

In Harry’s dreams, Malfoy always called him Harry.

“What the fuck, Malfoy?” Harry had been having a delightful dream in which Malfoy – although he was known to Harry as Draco in the dream – had confessed his affections to Harry and asked him to ride on a unicorn with him into space.

True – Harry was pleased to wake up to the real Malfoy’s naked chest. But it left him with an inconvenient problem beneath the sheets which he couldn’t really take care of with Malfoy staring down at him like that. Well, actually, that was another fantasy of his, but he expected in this situation, Malfoy would probably just punch him, rather than join in.

“I want to switch beds.” Malfoy said.

Harry frowned, looking over to Malfoy’s vacant four poster. The sheets were thrown wide, the pillow on the floor beside it. “Why?”

“There’s something wrong with that bed. I think it’s haunted.”

“You think the bed is haunted?” Harry repeated sceptically.

Malfoy crossed his arms over his (naked!) chest. “Yes.”

“And you want me to sleep in it?”

Malfoy shrugged. “Better you than me.”

“Absolutely not.” Harry rolled away from Malfoy. He was tired. And he wanted to finish his dream.

“So, you believe me that it’s haunted then?” Malfoy asked. A clear challenge.

“No,” Harry clarified into his pillow, “I just don’t see why I should have to be inconvenienced because of your paranoia.”

“You’re already awake, and I’m going to stand here until you agree.”

Harry knew he would too. Malfoy was persistent.

“Fine.” Harry jumped up and scrambled into the other bed. He retrieved the pillow from the floor, readjusted the sheets and settled in. Haunted or not, Harry could tell he was going to have a good sleep now. The bed smelt like Malfoy. That would complement Harry’s dreams nicely.

Sleep came quickly.

_Harry was in the Department of Mysteries. At the end of one of the long corridors he saw it – a curtain. He knew Sirius was right behind the curtain. He glided forward. If he could just reach it – but a hand pulled him back. He turned around to find hundreds of inferi crawling towards him, the closest one with a grip on his arm that was tightening, bruising his skin, crushing the bone beneath. He tried to scream but all that came out was a hiss._

_Harry was in Little Hangleton Graveyard. The tombstones were so large they towered over his head, the engravings with big wiry letterings spelling out the names of the dead. Lily Potter. James Potter. Cedric Diggory. Sirius Black. Albus Dumbledore. Hedwig. Dobby. Fred Weasley. Collin Creevey. Remus Lupin. Nymphadora Tonks. Severus Snape. And the last – the biggest tombstone of them all: Tom Marvolo Riddle Junior. Beneath it, the earth was shaking, the dirt crumbling away. The Dark Lord was returning._

_Harry was in The Forbidden Forest. A high-pitched laughter rang in his ears. The sky flashed green. The trees were whispering, telling him to turn back, telling him to run. But his feet kept walking forward. The trees grew sparse. He was almost at the clearing. And when he reached it, he was going to die._

Harry woke up in a sweat, his heart beat threatening to rip the organ from his chest. He threw the sheets away, and tried to calm himself with deep breaths, but the scenes from his dreams – no, his  _nightmares_  – flashed in front of his eyes over and over again. Maybe Malfoy was right – maybe the bed really was haunted.

He pulled himself up, ignoring the heaviness of his head. As soon as he was off the bed, he felt instantly calmer. He could still remember the nightmares but they were no longer pining him down with their weight. No longer crawling under his skin. It was no wonder Malfoy wanted to swap beds.

Harry looked over to his own bed. Malfoy was fast asleep. It wasn’t fair that he got to have the unicorn space dreams (Harry could only presume) in Harry’s bed, while Harry had scary death nightmares in his. He walked over.

“Malfoy.” Harry prodded Malfoy’s side. “Malfoy.”

Malfoy grumbled as he slowly regained consciousness. “Stop it, Potter. I’m sleeping.”

“I want my bed back.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t haunted.”

“I was wrong,” Harry said stiffly. He didn’t much like admitting it, especially not to his ex-rival whom he currently had the hots for. 

Malfoy smiled, his eyes still closed. “Say that again.”

“I was wrong,” Harry repeated with a sigh. “Can I have my bed back now?”

“I’m not going back there.”

“Well, neither am I,” Harry retorted. He didn’t fancy another trip to the Forbidden Forest.

Malfoy rolled over to the edge of the bed, his back to Harry. “Get in then.”

Harry knew he had heard wrong. “Excuse me?”

“Just don’t hog the covers,” Malfoy continued, “and you better not drool in your sleep.”

Harry hesitated, looking back at Malfoy’s bed. He already knew he wouldn’t be going back there. Not tonight. He suspected someone had cursed it, and he was already planning his revenge for when he found out who, but for now, there wasn’t anything else to do but sleep. And he wasn’t going to get much on the floor.

Not to mention, the thought of sleeping with – well, sleeping next to – Malfoy was all kinds appealing. Scary, and awkward and embarrassing of course. But very appealing.

He climbed into the bed slowly, careful not to accidentally touch or jostle Malfoy in any way. He didn’t want to seem like he was taking advantage of the situation. He had no idea what Malfoy thought about it. Thought about him.

Harry managed to orient himself in bed so no part of his body was touching Malfoy’s. True - it left him almost falling off the side, but it was a minor discomfort. A necessity to keep a healthy, platonic space between him and Malfoy.

When he fell asleep, he was pleased to return to a journey of space travel with Draco on their magical unicorn.

But it was nothing compared to waking up the next morning with Malfoy, the real Malfoy, snuggled into his chest, an arm tightly clinging to his torso.

And _that_ , in turn, was nothing compared to when Malfoy sniffled in his sleep and mumbled: “Hmmm, Harry.”

Perhaps he wouldn’t be seeking revenge on whoever cursed Malfoy’s bed after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/165217440331/eight-year-angst-bed-sharing)


	12. #awkward #pining #ministry

 

  


Harry read the article again. He didn't know why he put himself through it. Rita Skeeter’s outlandish claims never failed to make him angry. And he'd already forced The Daily Prophet to run a redaction days ago. 

No, he did know, actually. It was the accompanying image. The one with Draco Malfoy staring right into the camera, unblinking, a challenge in his eyes. It was familiar but at the same time nothing Harry had ever seen before (except during his many rereads of this particular paper). Malfoy had aged. Matured obviously since he was now a Ministry official. There was just something about his face. The same but different. Harry was drawn to it.

"Auror Potter." 

Harry looked up to find that same face at his doorway, focusing a steely gaze on Harry. He was so shocked he forgot he was holding a cup of tea. It dropped to his desk with an embarrassing clatter, spilling its contents, all over Malfoy’s inked face.  

The Malfoy at Harry’s office door – the real one – didn’t move. His eyes flickered down to Harry's desk, watching the spill unfold passively.

Harry jumped to his feet and quickly bundled up the wet paper, throwing it face down into a waste basket at his feet. He wasn't sure if he'd been fast enough.

He looked back up to Malfoy, searching for any sign he might have seen. Nothing. But that hardly meant much. Harry suspected Malfoy’s emotions didn’t play so obviously on his face anymore. He nodded in what he hoped was a professional courteous manner. "Dralfoy."

Harry froze, the awful blunder hitting his ears just as it came out of his mouth. He could feel himself blushing, his palms getting clammy, his knees weak. Was simply Malfoy’s presence enough to make him come undone these days?

And just when he thought things couldn't get worse, Harry, not quite sure how much longer he’d be able to stand for, slumped back into his seat - or at least attempted to – but misjudged the position and ended up plummeting to the floor instead.

The only saving grace – if there was any positive to the situation at all – was that at least on the floor, behind his desk, he was hidden from sight. He wondered if he crawled under his desk and stayed there, if Malfoy would get the idea and leave. Harry was seriously considering the option when Malfoy came into view again, stepping around the desk to loom over Harry.

He offered a hand. Harry gladly took it, forgetting for a moment the current predicament of said hands. And sure enough, after Malfoy helped Harry to his feet, he quickly let go and wiped his hand on his trousers.

Harry wanted to close his eyes and crawl up into a ball in the corner of the room. He never wanted to look Malfoy in the eye again. In less than a minute, he had made himself look like a complete fool. And all it took was for Malfoy to walk in the bloody room.

Malfoy cleared his throat. “I just came by to say hello. I thought it was polite given we work in the same building now. Which, of course, you already know.” His eyes darted to the waste basket. Shit.

“I had The Daily Prophet write a redaction,” Harry blurted out, as if that would help. Although at least he managed to get the words right this time.

“That was you? I should have guessed. You never miss an opportunity to save my skin.” Malfoy’s lips quirked upward for the smallest moment before his composure returned. “Well, it was nice seeing how the other side lives. I suppose I must get back to it.”

“Right,” Harry managed to nod. “I’ll get the door for you.”

They both stared at the open door.

Having already committed to the pointless task, Harry hurried forward and tripped over his own feet, falling right into Malfoy’s waiting – his reflexes were still as fast as they were in Quidditch – arms. Could Harry  _be_  more embarrassing?

Malfoy righted Harry but kept a firm grip on him – perhaps he thought Harry might slump to the floor otherwise, which was probably an accurate assumption at this stage.

There was amusement in Malfoy’s face now, a lightness in his eyes. “Are you always this clumsy, Potter, or am I special?”

“You’re special,” Harry answered quickly as he didn’t want Malfoy to think this was how all his mornings went. Although, after he realised what he’d said, he quickly tried to take it back: “No, I mean, wait, I mean, that’s not what I  -“

Malfoy took a step back, dropping his arms. “No need to be so flustered, Potter,” he interrupted. “I keep all the newspapers with your face on them too.”

Harry’s brain short-circuited. He must have stood there blinking at Malfoy for a solid five seconds before he was able to ask: “All of them?”

“Thirty-four and counting.” Malfoy winked. “You know, Potter, if you were to take me out to dinner, I’m sure the outing might be scandalous enough to make the front page. We could add to both our collections.”

“If I – you – dinner?” Harry repeated, a little discombobulated.

“Why, Potter,” Malfoy said, a cheeky smile appearing on his face, “I thought you’d never ask. I’d love to.”

Harry blinked – it was the only action he was capable of.

Malfoy laughed lightly when Harry didn’t reply. He made to exit, but paused briefly to call out over his shoulder: “I finish at six.”

Only when Malfoy was out of view did Harry let his knees give in.

 

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/165256898826/awkward-pining-ministry)


	13. #pining!draco #quidditch #parseltongue

There may have been fourteen players on the field but Draco only had eyes for one. Fast, lean, focused, Potter was like a bullet the way he shot across the Quidditch pitch. The other seeker didn't stand a chance. 

"No wonder you didn't want me to come," Blaise said from beside Draco, breaking him from his trance.

It was true – he didn’t want Blaise to come. Some of the eighth years had set up their own Quidditch club. Draco wasn’t a part of it, of course, but that didn’t mean he didn’t wake up ridiculously early every morning so he could watch them, well,  _Potter_ , play.

Draco, of course – he had the worst luck, made the mistake of stepping on  _that_  creaking floorboard by Blaise’s bed – he usually avoided it but the early starts had started to make his brain a little foggy.

Blaise hadn’t been too happy at being awoken before the sun itself, but the more Draco pushed for him to go back to sleep, the more curious he had become. In the end, he insisted Draco take him with him.

Draco forced his eyes to land on another player before replying. "What do you mean by that?"

Blaise snorted. "Come on, Draco, it's pretty obvious why you're here."

Draco kept his face straight ahead, avoiding Blaise's knowing eyes. "I enjoy Quidditch."

"Maybe you enjoy it a little  _too_  much."

Draco averted his eyes as Potter flew into his line of vision. That was hardly his fault. He turned to Blaise. "I don't know what you mean."

Blaise smirked. "I think you know  _exactly_  what I mean." Blaise jerked his head out to the field. “Heads up, lover boy.”

Draco turned back to find Potter hurtling towards them, the snitch at the edge of the pitch where they sat in the stands. With his Quidditch robes flying behind him and a fierce determination in his eyes, Potter looked like a dream. In fact, Draco had had this very dream, maybe with a few minor adjustments to the rest of Potter’s clothing. (What clothing?)

Potter’s hand closed around the snitch – close enough that Draco could have leaned forward and snatched it up himself – and a low hissing sound escaped his mouth. Draco felt the sound in his entire body.

Potter twisted his broom with ease, avoiding impact with the stand, and flew back to his team, his hand raised high, showing off his win.

Draco slumped back – he had somehow found himself at the very tip of his seat, leaning into the pitch. His heart pounded against his chest, as if it wished to escape.

"What was  _that_?" Blaise asked.

Draco waved a hand dismissively, focusing on calming his heartbeat. "It's parseltongue. Potter use to –  _does_  speak it."

"That's not what I –“ Blaise paused. His voice grew mocking. “ _Oh no_."

Draco looked over to Blaise, alarmed. "What?"

Blaise smiled – it stretched over his face slowly. "You  _liked_  that, didn't you?”

“No, I didn't!” Draco crossed his legs nervously. He immediately regretted it when Blaise’s eyes were drawn to the action, widening at the implication.

“You did!” Blaise clapped his hands together. He was enjoying this. “You pervert! Potter's snake tongue has got you all hot and bothered.”

“You're being ridiculous,” Draco insisted. “Why would – “ Draco spotted Potter flying back up to the stand and his voice faltered. The snitch was nowhere to be seen.

Blaise leaned into Draco to whisper: “Better keep your legs crossed.”

Draco blushed. “I AM NOT HA - Potter!” Draco yelled as Potter approached. “Good catch.”  _Great form. Amazing body._

Potter dismounted his broom, considerably less gracefully than he flew. “Thanks, Malfoy,” he said, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “I didn't know you were - I mean, did you want to play? Is that why you're here? Because I can – “

“I'm fine,” Draco interrupted. He didn’t fancy making a fool of himself.

“Draco prefers to watch,” Blaise added. Draco shot him a murderous look. Blaise. Was. Dead.

Luckily, Potter didn’t catch on to the meaning. He shuffled on the spot. “Oh, okay then. If you change your mind, let – “

“Why do you - when you - why do you do that?” Draco blurted out before Potter could leave.

Potter tilted his head, staring at Draco intently with puckered eyebrows, confusion clear on his face.

“He means why do you speak parseltongue when you catch the snitch,” Blaise translated.

Potter’s face relaxed; he laughed sheepishly. “You heard that? It's just something that happens when I'm not concentrating on what I'm saying.” Potter paused to think about it. “You know, when I'm reacting instinctively.”

“Reacting instinctively hmm?” Blaise repeated, his whole face alight. “That must happen quite a bit huh, Potter?” Blaise said with a painfully obvious wink, nudging Draco as he did.

“Yeah, actually, it's – “ Blaise’s implication must have hit Potter a second too late. He fumbled over his words. “What are you - Oh I didn't mean - that's not - I mean, you don't need to - um.” Potter closed his mouth firmly, a blush creeping over his cheeks. Draco could see the cogs in Potter’s mind working overtime, trying to find an escape. Draco felt quite the same way. Blaise was worse than dead.

“I should get back to the team,” Potter said, after a telling pause, mounting his broom.

“Bye, Potter,” Blaise said sweetly. “Draco looks forward to the opportunity to hear your parseltongue once more.”

Potter hissed again, low and breathy. Draco didn’t require a translation to know Potter was swearing.

“He means during Quidditch,” Draco quickly covered up, crossing his legs tighter and internally vowing to destroy Blaise for the most mortifying experience of his life.

“No I – “

Draco clapped a hand over Blaise’s mouth before he could ruin Draco’s day further. Draco tried to smile at Potter, his face burning.

“I'll see you tomorrow, then,” Potter said, his face just as aflame as Draco’s. “Our next Quidditch meet,” he explained when Draco remained silent.

Draco nodded a little too enthusiastically once he understood Potter’s meaning, already anticipating the next time he might hear Potter make that hissing sound again. “Yeah, see you tomorrow, Potter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/165379502366/piningdraco-parseltongue-quidditch)


	14. #jealously #confession #wine

Perhaps Harry’s intentions hadn’t been clear enough. Perhaps he should have been more straight forward with Draco. But really, wasn’t it obvious? Did he really have to say it?

 _Of course_  his invite to dinner was a date. How could Draco interpret it any other way? They’d had lunch together alone before, plenty of times, but never dinner. Dinner meant something more than just colleagues or friends. At least it did to Harry. It had taken him weeks to work up the courage just to ask.

And he had turned up to find out Draco had invited Pansy and Blaise, thinking it was a group dinner. Harry had had to excuse himself while Draco sorted out their table – “Oh no, the reservation was for six people, wasn’t it Harry? You must have misheard him over the phone” – and call Hermione and Ron to urgently join him.

It had taken some time to convince them. Ron couldn’t stop laughing long enough to have a conversation and Hermione insisted Harry simply tell Draco how he felt. Like it was that easy. Like he hadn’t already revealed enough by asking Draco out for dinner. 

With a lot of begging, Hermione and Ron had dressed and apparated over, coming to Harry’s rescue. And now Harry found himself wedged between the two, opposite Draco, also wedged between his own friends. Draco hadn’t spoken to Harry directly at all. There was polite group chatter in which they both participated, but it wasn’t like their long nights alone in the office together, nothing like their lunches. For the most part, Draco spoke with his own friends, whispering into Pansy’s ear, laughing into Blaise’s shoulder.

Harry had always thought that his growing relationship with Draco was something special. Something different. But seeing Draco with his other friends, perhaps it wasn’t anything particular at all. Just a convenient friendship with a colleague, to bide the time during the workday until he could go out with his real friends.

Harry hadn’t meant to get drunk. But he had a habit of drinking nervously just to have something to do with his hands. And the waiter kept filling up his wine glass. So, by dessert, when Pansy laughed – a sound that Harry was growing to hate – at one of Draco’s jokes and placed a hand on his shoulder, Harry didn’t have the control to stop himself from commenting.

“Oh, you’re just  _so_  funny, Draco!” He said, in a very poor imitation of Pansy’s voice.

Everybody turned to stare at him.

“What the fuck, Potter?” Blaise said.

“What the fuck,  _Zabini_?” Harry mimicked with another terrible imitation.

Hermione nudged him under the table. Harry paid no mind, and went to take another swig of his wine glass.

Draco’s hands stopped him, leaning over the table to pull Harry’s wine glass from his grip. “Harry, are you  _drunk_?” He asked quietly.

Harry laughed. “ _Now_ , you pay attention to me,” he mumbled. He tried to steal the glass back, but Draco held it out of his reach.

“What do you mean by that?” Draco asked, his eyes boring into Harry’s intently. 

Harry looked away – he was starting to feel dizzy with that gaze directed at him. “You’ve been getting chummy with Pansy and Blaise all night.”

“Harry,” Ron whispered urgently beside him, “I think you –“

“Chummy?” Draco repeated. “They’re my friends, Harry. Of course we’re  _chummy_.”

Harry’s head felt heavy. “So, I’m not your friend then? I’m just someone you  _work with_?” Harry’s voice was rising dangerously, the alcohol helping him forget where he was.

Draco gently placed Harry’s glass back down on the table, his voice, still quiet, in great contrast to Harry’s. “I wouldn’t be here if you were just someone I worked with.”

“Then why’d you have to bring Pansy and Blaise?”

“Why’d you bring Ron and Hermione?” Draco countered.

“Because I saw your friends and didn’t want you to know this was a date so I forced them to – “

“This is a  _date_?” Draco interrupted, at the same time Harry realised what he’d said. The alcohol was loosening his tongue.

“It was  _supposed_ to be,” Harry said sulkily, looking back up at Draco. He knew he was being childish but he didn’t particularly care. This had been brewing all night, and eight and a half glasses later, Harry wasn’t so concerned about consequences.

Draco – to his credit – looked genuinely apologetic. “Harry, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.”

“What else would it be?”

“Harry, I truly am sorry, but in my defence, you did suggest we ‘hang out for dinner’ and that I could ‘invite anyone I wanted.’”

“You weren’t supposed to  _want_  to invite anyone!” Harry yelled, ignoring the sniggers from Pansy and Ron.  

“And how was I supposed to  _know_  that?” Draco retorted, his face a mixture of frustration and amusement.

Irritated at being laughed at, Harry slumped down into his seat and crossed his arms. “You just  _were_.”

“Harry,” Draco said softly after a pause, “Would you like to go out for dinner with me tomorrow night? I promise it’ll just be the two of us. And significantly less wine I hope.”

Harry looked up at Draco, suspicious. “Are you just trying to make this up to me out of pity?”

“It’s a  _date_ , Harry,” Draco said with a light chuckle, “I want to go on a date with you. Do you accept?”

Harry shrugged – to a snort of laughter from Ron. He didn’t want to look  _too_ eager but it was probably eight glasses late to try to act coy. He recalibrated, stared Draco right in the eye and gave his honest answer (albeit a little slurred): “I’d love to go on a date with you, Draco.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/165391386091/jealousy-confession-wine)


	15. #established relationship #quidditch #fluff

“Nice form out there, Potter,” Draco called out, running to catch up with Harry. As much as he enjoyed the view walking behind, he had something better planned.

“You weren’t too bad yourself, Malfoy,” Harry said over his shoulder, bright sunshine lighting up the winning grin he did ever so well. Reporters loved it. Fans loved it. And Draco was absolutely besotted with it.

Draco stopped Harry before he could enter the locker rooms, holding him against the wall. They were both still sweaty from the game but Draco didn’t mind - in fact, he rather liked the way Harry looked when he was flushed.

“Still not good enough to beat you.”

“You’re getting  _close,”_  Harry teased.

Draco shrugged, his hands playing with Harry’s shoulder straps. Merlin, Harry looked good in his Quidditch uniform. “Well, I have been learning from the best.”

Harry scrunched up his face in mock confusion. “Who? Do I know him?”

Draco laughed. “Shut up, you tosser.”

He leaned in and kissed Harry exactly as he knew his boyfriend liked it, hands gliding up Harry’s neck to rest in his hair, lips moving effortlessly.

Being with Harry Potter made everything in Draco’s life that little bit brighter. Before they’d gotten together, Draco couldn’t stand losing, in Quidditch or anything else for that matter. It made him feel pathetic, inferior, not good enough. But winning Quidditch games didn’t seem as important as it once did - he’d learnt his self worth didn’t need to be so fickle - and, besides, losing to his boyfriend wasn’t so bad.

“You really were amazing today,” Draco said, pulling away from the kiss. “I could hardly focus on the snitch.”

“Oh,” Harry said, a smirk forming on his lips, delectably red from the kiss. “Is  _that_  why you always lose?”

Draco laughed again - Harry seemed to draw it from Draco so easily these days. There was a time not so long ago when Draco had thought he’d never laugh again. And now, everyday Harry Potter made him feel lighter than air, as if some of the weight bearing down on him had disappeared altogether. But he knew it hadn’t. The only difference now was that Harry was sharing the load.

He peppered small kisses on Harry’s lips, enjoying the way Harry smiled and laughed throughout. The sound filled Draco’s body with a warmth that had nothing to do with the sun shining down on them.

Draco had no need for the sun when the light of his life was right in front of him.

“I’ll have you next time, Potter, just you wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/165433351951/established-relationship-quidditch-fluff)


	16. #smut #cute af #nervous

Dating Draco Malfoy still felt a little unreal to Harry. It seemed as if they went from rivals to lovers with nothing in-between, and Harry hadn’t been given the time to process it all.

There was no denying the energy between them - the way Harry could feel every cell in his body come to life at Draco’s touch, the way Draco melted into Harry’s. But there was something else too, something that Harry had been trying to work out since that first time Draco had pulled him in for a kiss. Something in Draco’s eyes - when he stared unflinching into Harry’s, his whispers - when he seduced Harry with his words alone, and his laugh - when he made Harry feel as if there could only ever be light in this world.

Harry still hadn’t quite worked out that something but it was beginning to play on his mind more and more.

Draco noticed.

“You’re distracted,” he pointed out, pulling his lips away from Harry’s neck which he had been showering with kisses. They’d skipped lunch in the Great Hall to sneak into an empty classroom together.

Harry leant his head back against the wall behind him. If only he knew what he was distracted  _by. “_ Don’t stop,” he said to Draco. Distraction or not, being kissed on the neck was a particular weakness of his, and he wasn’t about to give it up that easily.

“Your wish is my command,” Draco whispered into Harry’s ear, lips so close they brushed against his skin and he could feel the warmth of Draco’s breath. That alone was enough to make Harry shiver, but followed by frenzied kisses, sucking and grazing against the side of Harry’s neck, it lit Harry on  _fire_.

Harry’s eyes closed of their own accord as he gave into the sensation. What did anything else matter when he felt like this?

Draco’s lips fell to the front of Harry’s neck, and sucked hard on his pulse point. Harry gasped at the unexpected pleasure. Draco was a master of drawing such sounds out of him.

Hands curled around Harry’s where they hung limply at his sides. Harry opened his eyes to find Draco staring right back at him.

“We don’t have to do this right now if you’re not in the mood,” Draco said gently, tracing identical patterns into Harry’s palms.

“What makes you think I’m not in the mood?” Harry asked, surprised. He hadn’t exactly been unreceptive to Draco’s attentions.

Draco intertwined their fingers, holding Harry’s hands up higher. “You’re usually a lot more hand-sy,” he said with a soft smile.

Harry tightened his grip on Draco’s hands and swivelled the both of them around so he had Draco pinned to the wall. He held their hands against the wall by Draco’s head and pushed his hips forward, so Draco could  _feel_  how wrong he was. “Do you still think I’m not in the mood?” he asked.

Draco’s breathing had picked up and his heartbeat was so fast Harry could see the vein in his neck pulsing. He was mesmerised by the sight of it. Draco’s heartbeat. Draco’s heart. There was something on the tip of his tongue that he still couldn’t quite place.

“Harry?” Draco called out softly, bringing Harry back down. He must have been staring too long.

“Sorry,” Harry said, releasing Draco’s hands, “there’s just something - “ He paused, unsure how to finish. What something?

“Something?” Draco prompted, a hand coming up to push Harry’s long hair from his face. It flopped right back down but Draco kept repeating the motion anyway.

Harry couldn’t think. His mind was a jigsaw and he only ever had access to one puzzle piece at a time. Right now, he just wanted to feel the electricity again. He dropped to his knees and pulled at Draco’s trousers.

“Are you sure you - “ Draco started but faltered when Harry pulled his trousers and pants down and took his dick into his mouth without hesitation. “ _Harry._ ”

Harry loved it when Draco said his name like that. There was need, appreciation, affection, urgency and patience all in the one word. And Harry was more than happy to deliver. He wanted to give Draco everything, and right now that included the best fucking blowjob he’d ever received.

Harry hadn’t any experience prior to dating Draco but that didn’t matter now. He didn’t need to know what it was like to suck someone else’s dick. He only needed to know that Draco liked it when he swirled over his tongue over the tip. That Draco liked it when Harry moaned around him. That Draco  _loved_  it when Harry stared right into his eyes as he sucked him off.

And sure enough, it wasn’t long before Draco was coming into Harry’s mouth, making the most delectable sounds as he did - if Harry was any less experienced, he might have come in his pants at the sound of Draco’s orgasm alone.

But that was nothing to the sound after. When Harry had swallowed the last of Draco’s cum, Draco giggled. Harry stood up quickly to take in the sight as well as the sound. Draco’s face was soft and light, his lips split wide into the very corners of his cheeks as he laughed.

Draco always laughed after he came. It was strange but endearing. Harry wanted to hold onto that laughter for as long as Draco would let him. Hold it in his heart, so he could carry that lightness with him everywhere he went.

Oh.

That something finally clicked. Everything had fallen into place all on its own and Harry was only just seeing it for what it was. He stared at Draco, the laughter still echoing in his ears.

Oh.

Everything had been easy for them from the start. They moved together perfectly as if in a dance. Each step as natural as the first. But this, finally, this, was something difficult. Something that made Harry feel sick at the thought of saying it, at the thought of the consequences if he had misjudged the situation, at the thought of rejection. But even sicker at the thought of not saying it, like if he didn’t let it out, it would come up forcefully all on its own whether Harry was ready or not.

Harry breathed in, looked into the eyes of Draco Malfoy, and decided it was worth it. That Draco was worth it. He’d finally found the words for what he’d been feeling for so long.

“I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/165472877256/smut-cute-af-nervous)


	17. #coffee #shop #fluff

Sorry, I’m late,” Harry said as he hurriedly tied on his apron. “I swear it was the tube this - What? What’s wrong?”

Harry took in his boss’s expression and realised he wasn’t in trouble for being late. If anything, it was his  _boss_  that looked apologetic.

“I need you to train our new barista,” Tonks said, a weak smile not quite reaching her eyes.

“Of course,” Harry answered automatically. He had trained new staff before. It wasn’t too hard as long as the cafe wasn’t overrun with customers. And it was only a Tuesday. “Are they here yet?”

Tonks jerked an arm behind her and stepped to the side so Harry could see. Leaning on the counter by the cafe’s coffee machine was a tall, blonde-haired man with pointy features and long limbs. He was wearing the standard cafe apron over a three piece suit and a crisp white shirt secured with silver cufflinks. Despite the cups piling up next to the machine left by the register staff, he didn’t appear interested in fulfilling any orders.

“He’s…a little difficult,” Tonks explained, “But he’s my cousin and I promised his mother I’d get him a job. I’ve been trying to teach him but he’s testing my patience. Can you please take him off my hands so I can do some accounting?  _Please_?”

Harry looked the man up and down. The phrase ‘fish out of water’ came to mind…“He doesn’t look like he needs a job.”

“He didn’t. Until last week. His parents were just jailed for fraud and embezzlement. They lost everything.”

Harry supposed he should feel sorry for the man, losing his parents, losing his money all in one go. But when the man stood there, with a snotty, disinterested expression, dressed in the most inappropriate clothes, that a month of Harry’s shifts still wouldn’t cover, it was hard to feel anything but resentment.

He sighed and nodded at Tonks. “I’l teach him,” he agreed.

Tonks actually jumped with relief - making Harry immediately regret his decision - and clapped Harry on the shoulder appreciatively before wasting no time in rushing back into the office in the cafe kitchens.

Harry took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders back. He could handle a snotty rich kid. He headed over quickly, conscious of the mounting coffee orders.  

“Hey, I’m Harry,” he said on approach, holding out a hand. The man stared at it, his expression unchanging. “This is the part where you tell me your name and we shake hands,” Harry prompted.

The man’s lip curled. “Malfoy. Draco Malfoy,” he said, still making no move to shake.

Harry lowered his hand, already understanding why Tonks had taken the opportunity to run away when she did. “So, what do you know about coffee?” He asked.

That got a reaction. The man - Draco - pushed off the counter and stood up straight, staring down at Harry pointedly. “I’m not a moron. I know how to make coffee.”

Harry blinked back up at Draco for a moment. He hadn’t noticed from afar how impossibly grey the man’s eyes were.

Harry came back to his senses quickly. “Go on, then,” he prompted.

“What?”

Harry smiled, pleased to have disconcerted the man. This could actually be fun. He picked up the first coffee order and read it. “The first order’s a double shot latte, extra hot.” He held out a cup to Draco.

Draco stared at the cup blankly for a second before snatching it from Harry’s hand and turning to the coffee machine. Harry couldn’t imagine a man in an expensive three piece would ever have a reason to work a barista’s coffee machine. But if Draco was too proud to ask, then Harry had no desire to teach him.

Of course, what happened next was an absolute disaster. Not only did Draco manage to get no coffee at all into the actual cup, he also burnt, spilt and slipped in the milk - only staying upright thanks to Harry’s quick reflexes, and coated his apron and a decent amount of his suit with dark coffee. Harry hadn’t meant to laugh aloud but there was only so much he could hold in.

Draco’s head whipped back to face Harry. “The machine’s obviously broken,” he said, his expression sulky.

“Obviously,” Harry repeated, his voice shaking with his laughter. He took a breath and pushed it back down. There were customers watching them now, waiting for their delayed coffees. “Maybe I can fix it?” He suggested as gently as he could.

Draco shrugged and moved out of the way, still holding himself proudly - or at least as proudly as a man covered in coffee and smelling like burnt milk could.

Harry reset the machine and gave it a quick wipe down - he still wasn’t sure how Draco had managed to get coffee everywhere but in the cup. It might have been impressive if it wasn’t so disastrous.

He set about making the latte, explaining each step as slowly and clearly as he could, like he would for any trainee. He figured Draco wouldn’t be listening but when he peeked at Draco out of the corner of his eye, he could see the man paying close attention to Harry’s actions, his eyes following each move. Harry continued.

“You don’t have to but I like to draw patterns in the coffee sometimes - customers really love it. Like this,” Harry said, crafting a ridged leaf shape into the foam at the top of the cup, and showing it to Draco.

He watched Draco’s eyes alight and even caught the slightest smile in the quirk of Draco’s lips, before the man composed himself. Draco leant back against the counter, his expression returning to disinterest, although Harry knew now that it was feigned. 

Harry presented the coffee to their first customer, a man who showed the signs of creeping impatience. Harry put on his best smile as he handed over the cup. “I’m deeply sorry for the wait, sir. I hope you have a great day.”

Harry continued filling orders as fast as he could, allowing Draco to remain watching. He figured Draco might need some time before he braved the coffee machine again. Harry did feel a little self-conscious with Draco’s watching him though. Those eyes followed him like a hawk, a fierce concentration on Harry’s hands as he worked the machine, and a strange lingering glance at Harry’s face when he dealt with customers, always with his best smile.

The rest of Harry’s shift passed quickly. He didn’t trust Draco to handle the machine again during the morning rush, but he did let him play around with it in the afternoon. Draco couldn’t make anything other than an espresso but at least he managed to get it all in the cup.

At close, Draco was still playing around with the machine, his face an image of furious concentration. Harry smiled as he untied his apron. Draco wasn’t as bad as Tonks had implied. He was a little prickly at the edges, yes, and his pride needed to be knocked down a couple of pegs, yes, but there was something about him that Harry liked. Perhaps it was the intensity in his eyes or his silent determination, but whatever it was, Harry was looking forward to his next shift.

As he made to leave, Draco stopped him. “Wait, Harry, did you want a coffee?” He asked, quietly, holding out a cup.

“Nah I don’t drink - “ Harry started to say but something in Draco’s expression, something in his voice, made Harry change his mind. A vulnerability that wasn’t there before. “Thank you,” he said instead, taking the cup, his fingers brushing against Draco’s in the process. The contact made Harry’s skin tingle. “See you tomorrow,” he said quickly, already hurrying out the door.

It wasn’t until he was halfway up the street that he finally looked down at the coffee. Draco had crafted something into the foam, or at least tried to - it was very shaky artwork, but Harry could tell what it was all the same. There in the centre of Harry’s coffee, Draco had left a tiny heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/165561864136/coffee-shop-fluff)


	18. #aurors #masochism #denial

Draco sat behind Harry’s desk, drumming his fingers against the wood top impatiently. He and Harry had just finished a long and demanding case which meant Draco should have been getting fucked over the very desk he was sitting at by now. That’s how they usually celebrated.

But, Head Auror, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had ruined that by calling Harry into his office for an “urgent meeting” as soon as they’d returned to the Ministry. Draco couldn’t see how anything could be more urgent than Harry fucking him, but he wasn’t about to say that to Kingsley. So instead he was forced to sit and wait. And Draco wasn’t a particularly patient person.

Finally, after what seemed like a month - but in reality was less than half an hour - Harry walked back into their shared office. Draco wasted no time, slamming the door with his wand and casting all the (very necessary) silencing charms around the room. He waited by the desk for Harry but Harry hadn’t moved - he stood just inside the doorway, a dazed expression on his face.

Draco approached Harry, waving a hand in front of his partner’s face. “Harry?” He called out. “Are you going to fuck me or what?”

* * *

Harry blinked out of his daze and rolled his eyes at Draco, a smirk playing on his lips. “Somebody’s eager.”

“Of course I am, I’ve been waiting hours for this.” Draco tried to pull Harry in for a kiss but Harry held back.

“I need to tell you something first.”

Draco pulled at Harry’s collar loosening the buttons. “Tell me later,” he insisted. He didn't think he could concentrate on anything else right now.

Harry held Draco’s hand still. “You really are desperate, aren't you?”

“Come on, Harry, just fuck me already,” Draco pleaded trying to yank his hands free so he could continue unbuttoning Harry’s shirt, but Harry only held on tighter.

“I didn’t realise I took orders from you, Malfoy, _”_ Harry said, his voice low.

Draco shivered. Harry hardly ever called him that anymore. He stuck out his chin. “We both know you want it too,  _Potter._ ”

Harry laughed and released Draco’s hands. “And yet  _you’re_  the one climbing all over  _me_. Why don’t you just strip for me already? We both know you want to.”

Draco’s jaw tightened. He didn’t usually like being laughed at but when Harry did it like that, staring at him like he knew exactly what he was thinking, it sent a particularly strong feeling to his groin.

“Fuck you,” he said, already pulling his shirt over his head.

“I don’t think that’s quite what you had in mind though, is it?” Harry said. He spoke cooly, but Draco could sense those eyes burning into Draco’s hands where they fumbled over the buttons in his trousers. He yanked his underpants down alongside his trousers - he wasn’t going to delay any further with a slow strip tease. There were plenty of other opportunities for that.

He looked back up at Harry whose eyes were fixed on his erection, it would’ve hardened under that gaze if it wasn’t already as stiff as a board. Why wasn’t Harry fucking him already?

“ _Harry,_ ” he pleaded.

Harry’s eyes drifted up - slowly - to Draco’s face. He titled his head. “Why don’t you just  _show_ me what you want?”

Draco’s stomach clenched at the suggestion. It was humiliating what Harry was asking him to do, but at the same time he couldn’t deny that it was also incredibly arousing. He hesitated, hoping Harry might grow impatient and just close the distance between them. But of course, Draco was the impatient one. Harry not so much.

“I can wait,” the bastard said, knowing Draco couldn’t.

How Draco envied Harry’s restraint, almost as much as he hated it. He turned to Harry’s desk, where Harry had taken him so many times before, and bent forward as slowly as his body would allow - he hoped it might thwart Harry’s restraint. He was pleased to hear Harry’s sharp intake of breath behind him although disappointed it didn’t result in him being fucked immediately. He laid his elbows down over Harry’s paperwork, and flinched when his dick made contact with the cold wood. If Harry took much longer, Draco supposed he could just rut himself against the desk for relief instead. Although by this point, he figured all it would take was a single touch from Harry to make him come undone.

No such touch was forthcoming of course. But Draco could feel Harry moving closer to him - maybe if he pushed his ass back just a little further…

“Oh,  _that’s_ what you want?” Harry’s teased, his voice loud. Draco was thankful he remembered the silencing charms. “You want me to  _fuck_  you on my office desk?”

Draco tried not to - he didn’t want to give Harry the satisfaction - but he heard it spill from his lips anyway: the most pathetic whimper. No one else but Harry could reduce him to this.

Harry leaned forward, shadowing Draco’s position over the desk. Draco felt Harry’s erection pushing up against him but there was still fabric between them. Harry hadn’t taken off his trousers yet. The fucking tease.

“Tell me, Malfoy,” Harry whispered at Draco’s ear, “is that what you want?”

“Yes,” Draco whispered back without hesitation.

“What was that?”

“Yes,” Draco said a little louder, rutting his ass against Harry’s dick. If he were holding his wand, he would have just vanished Harry’s pants completely.

“I’m afraid I can’t quite - “

“Fuck me on your fucking desk, Potter,” Draco yelled, no longer caring how desperate he might seem. “ _Please,_ ” he begged.

“Sure,” - Draco’s whole body heated up in anticipation, finally! - “but that’s not my desk anymore.” Harry took a step back.

That was it. Draco couldn’t take it any longer. He stood up and swivelled around to face Harry, who, infuriatingly hadn’t even bothered to take his shirt off yet. “Harry, this is hot and all, but can you stop playing and just fuck me?”

“You didn’t want to listen to my news earlier. Kingsley’s retiring.”

“What has that got to - “ Draco’s voice faltered and turned into a moan when Harry wrapped a hand around his dick and started stroking him. With how turned on he already was, Draco knew it wouldn’t be long until he came. It wasn’t exactly how he’d wanted to finish but at this point, he’d have taken any form of release.

Harry stared into Draco’s eyes as he brought him to the edge, with an intensity that made it impossible for Draco to look away.

“It means,” Harry said, answering Draco’s unfinished question, “the next time I fuck you, it’s going to be over the Head Auror’s desk.”

Draco leaned into Harry as he reached his high, coming over Harry’s hands and the trousers that, frustratingly, Harry was still wearing. He breathed in deeply as he came down, the blood returning enough to his brain so he could understand the implication of Harry’s words. Draco Malfoy was now dating Head Auror. Harry Potter was now his boss. So many fantasies. So many possibilities. But first, he couldn’t wait to try out Harry’s new desk.

“So, when is Kingsley leaving?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/165572717271/aurors-masochism-denial)


	19. #switching #owling #bumping into each other

Dearest Potter,

My mother insists that I write you to formally thank you for speaking on behalf of us at the Wizengamot. Without your testimony, we most certainly would have faced time in Azkaban.

So: thank you.

If you were expecting any heartfelt words of gratitude, then you’ve mistaken me for those hero worshippers who submit their amateur poetry about you to The Daily Prophet. Even as a child, I could write better poetry than that. 

Hoping to never speak to you again,

Draco Malfoy

 

* * *

 

 

**Malfoy,**

**Please pass my appreciation on to your mother. I sincerely hope she is well.**

**As for you, I don’t need or expect your gratitude. That’s not why I helped you. You wouldn’t understand this of course, but those of us who have a heart, help others simply just to _help others._**

**I also happen to enjoy and appreciate the notes people leave in The Daily Prophet for me. I’ve never heard any poetry from you, so I wouldn’t be so quick to throw stones.**

**Wishing you horrible misfortune,**

**Harry Potter**

 

* * *

 

 

Don’t give me that load of crock, Potter. Even heroes have ulterior motives.

I also highly doubt you enjoyed last week’s poem:  _“I see Harry Potter’s emerald eyes, they sparkle and shine, all magic defies.”_ What does that even mean?

Seeing through your media-trained lies,

Draco Malfoy

 

* * *

 

 

**Malfoy. You only think I’m lying because you can’t comprehend anyone’s perspective but your own.**

**That poem was heartfelt and thoughtful. I have a copy of it on my fridge - that’s a muggle appliance.**

**Rejecting your rude assumptions about me,**

**Harry Potter**

 

* * *

 

 

I know what a fridge is. And if you have the likes of that poem on yours, then you must seriously be starved for attention. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were keeping my letters on the fridge as well. Sentimental, Potter? Do you miss having someone to blame for all your misgivings?

Hoping this letter doesn’t come anywhere near your fridge,

Draco Malfoy

 

* * *

 

 

**I can assure you that your letters are not nearly poetic enough to make it to the fridge. Maybe you should try rhyming?**

**And I think you’re forgetting that you were the one intent on bullying me for most of our time at Hogwarts. I’m still waiting on an apology.**

**Waiting fruitlessly because I know you’re a prick,**

**Harry Potter**

 

* * *

 

 

Great, Potter. Now I have to apologise just to prove you wrong. I am not a prick. And I am sorry for any supposed “bullying”.

Bet you feel real stupid now.

Not rhyming as I have no desire to be on your fridge (Have I not made that clear?),

Draco Malfoy

 

* * *

 

 

**Malfoy,**

**That’s hardly an apology. You really are a prick.**

**And just so you know, you could write me a poem in iambic pentameter and it still wouldn’t make it onto my fridge.**

**Wondering if your heart is frozen in ice or if you were just born without one,**

**Harry Potter**

 

* * *

 

 

Fine. I’m sorry for bullying you. I mean that.

I actually do have a heart. Which you would know if you knew me at all. Which you don’t. So don’t presume to.

Wondering what the fuck iambic pentameter is and why anyone would want a poem in it,

Draco Malfoy

 

* * *

 

 

**Apology accepted, Malfoy. Was that so hard?**

**Forget about the iambic pentameter. It’s not like you’d ever write me a poem anyway.**

**Not presuming to know Draco Malfoy in any way, shape or form,**

**Harry Potter**

 

* * *

 

 

Potter,

I don’t appreciate being mocked. Apologies  _are_  hard, actually. Although I’ve never heard one from your mouth so perhaps you don’t know that. Merlin forbid, the great Harry Potter ever do anything wrong.

And maybe I will write you a poem. It will be called “The Boy Who was a Constant Pain in my Arse.”

Suggesting you order a new quill as your ink is splotchy,

Draco Malfoy

 

* * *

 

 

**I think you might want to reconsider the title of your poem.**

**Liking my quill as it is thank you very much,**

**Harry Potter**

 

* * *

 

 

What’s wrong with the title?

Enclosing a new state-of-the-art quill with this letter,

Draco Malfoy

 

* * *

 

 

**I think it might give people the wrong impression. Unless you want to imply we’re fucking?**

**Continuing to use my own quill and throwing away yours,**

**Harry Potter**

 

* * *

 

 

Fuck you, Potter.

Saying fuck you a second time for emphasis,

Draco Malfoy

 

* * *

 

 

**Your title would actually imply the other way around, Malfoy.**

**Enjoying being a constant pain in your ass,**

**Harry Potter**

 

* * *

 

 

I’m changing the title of my poem to Potter Sucks. Short. Simple. To the point.

Not so sure what you’re proposing to be enjoying,

Draco Malfoy

 

* * *

 

 

**Although accurate, I don’t think that title is really the angle you’re going for either. What’s your poem rated?**

**Enjoying ‘sucking’,**

**Harry Potter**

 

* * *

 

 

Potter,

My earlier observation that you were starved for attention was clearly an understatement. You are so desperate for it, you seem to be hitting on me. We’re enemies, Potter. Have you forgotten? Or has the blood from your brain rushed to other areas, leaving you incapable of thinking about anything other than sex?

Wondering if this is all an elaborate prank,

Draco Malfoy

 

* * *

 

 

**To other areas? Draco Malfoy, you wouldn’t be thinking about my dick would you?**

**Wondering how pink your face is right now as you fantasise about my dick,**

**Harry Potter**

 

* * *

 

 

POTTER. Must you be so vulgar? How can you put your splotchy quill to parchment and actually write something like that down?

NOT thinking about your dick in any regard,

Draco Malfoy

 

* * *

 

 

**The lady doth protest too much, methinks.**

**Not thinking about you not thinking about my dick in any regard,**

**Harry Potter**

 

* * *

 

 

Now, you’re just talking nonsense. I don’t know why I expected anything else from you. My mistake.

Wondering why I’m still writing to you,

Draco Malfoy

 

* * *

 

 

**No one’s forcing you to write back to me, Malfoy. You’re doing it because you want to.**

**Here, let me demonstrate something to you: If your write back to this letter, I’ll make you blush brighter than your pale face has ever known. If you don’t write back, you’ll never hear from me again.**

**If you really don’t enjoy writing to me, then the solution’s easy.**

**Knowing you’ll write back,**

**Harry Potter**

 

* * *

 

 

Fuck you, Potter. I have no interest in playing your games.

Waiting for your head to deflate,

Draco Malfoy

 

* * *

 

 

**And yet you still wrote back knowing what it would mean. You can stop acting coy with me, Malfoy. I gave up on that ages ago. Now I’m going to give you what you want.**

**I’ve been thinking about you lately. Thinking about the way your face flushes when you’re embarrassed. Thinking about the way you flick your hair back when you’re frustrated. Thinking about the way you strut around like you own each piece of the world you step on. And very lately, I’ve been thinking about the sounds you’d make with my cock inside of you.**

**I did promise to make you blush.**

**Unashamedly hard as I send this letter,**

**Harry Potter**

 

* * *

 

 

Potter,

Can you please explain to me what it is you’re trying to do? Because, for the life of me, I can’t think why’d you’d willingly humiliate yourself like this. How can you be so  _unashamed_ , as you put it, in sending such filth through the mail?

And just for the record, not that it would ever happen, but if it were,  _you_  would be the one moaning with the sensation of  _my_ cock inside of you, Potter. Just so that you’re aware.

Not blushing in the slightest (but you should be!),

Draco Malfoy

 

* * *

 

 

**You write about me moaning with the sensation of your cock, and _I’m_  the one writing filth? Seriously, Malfoy, you must realise what you’re doing here. What you’re doing to me.**

**And just for the record, I wouldn’t be opposed to the sensation of your cock inside of me.**

**Fantasising about it right now,**

**Harry Potter**

 

* * *

 

 

Potter,

Can I remind you that I did specify it would never happen between us, so fantasising is all you’ll ever be doing?

I’m not easy. Quite frankly, it’s insulting that you think you can trick me into your bed with filthy letters.

Suspecting you can’t think without your dick,

Draco Malfoy

 

* * *

 

 

**Malfoy,**

**I never thought you were easy. In fact, writing to you has been incredibly difficult. I’m sorry if I’ve been…overly explicit. I promise it’s not all about getting you into bed. I’m just not sure how else to get through to you.**

**There’s something about you. You set me on edge. You challenge me. You excite me. Writing to you, although frustrating at times, has given me something to look forward to every day.**

**Please tell me you feel the same.**

**Anxiously awaiting your reply,**

**Harry Potter**

 

* * *

 

 

Potter,

About today. I didn’t expect to see you in muggle London. Please don’t take my actions as indicative of my feelings. I was just surprised.

Sure that you will understand,

Draco Malfoy

 

* * *

 

 

Potter,

I think your return owl may have gotten lost. You may have to resend your last letter.

Patiently,

Draco Malfoy

 

* * *

 

 

Look, Potter. I didn’t mean to say those nasty things to you. It’s just seeing you, in the flesh, after so many years…well, as they say: old habits die hard.

I didn’t mean any of it. I’m sorry. Please write back.

Impatiently,

Draco Malfoy

 

* * *

 

 

Potter,

I know it may not seem like it, but I feel the same. I do.

Please read The Daily Prophet tomorrow morning.

Yours,

Draco Malfoy

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

  


 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Draco,**

**You made it onto the fridge.**

**Yours,**

**Harry**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/165617000366/switching-owling-bumping-into-each-other)


	20. #healer!Draco #injured!Harry #pining

Draco hadn’t turned around yet. But he would have seen Harry’s name on the appointment list. He must have known who his next patient was. Harry wondered if Draco felt that same nervous excitement to see him - the clammy palms, the fidgeting, the sweat on the back of the neck and a heart that he could hear pounding in his ears.

Probably not.

Draco stood with his back to the door, reading over a floating chart. Harry took an awkward seat on the edge of the patients’ chair. Still, Draco made no sign he was aware of Harry’s presence. Nothing new there.

Harry cleared his throat and got straight to the point. “I accidentally cursed myself.”

Draco turned around then, his face showing no surprise at Harry Potter sitting in his Healer’s office. “You accidentally cursed yourself,” he repeated drily.

Harry nodded, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Yes.”

“With what curse?” Draco’s eyes were piercing and analytical, giving Harry the odd sensation that Draco already knew exactly what he was thinking. But he couldn’t. Or they wouldn’t be having this conversation at all.

“I don’t know.”

Draco blinked back at Harry, drawing attention to his long pale lashes. Harry had a particular fondness for those bloody lashes. “How can you curse yourself and not know? What incantation did you use? What wand movement?”

Harry shrugged, dropping eye contact, lest he reveal his game too early. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t - “ Draco started to repeat, frustration leaking into his voice. “What are your symptoms? How has this mystery curse affected you?”

“I feel unwell,” Harry answered simply, playing with a loose thread on the knee of his trousers.

There was a silence in which Harry could feel Draco staring down at him, eyes boring into him. He didn’t dare look up. “You feel  _unwell,”_ Draco repeated, disbelief clear in his tone.

“Yes.”

“Potter, get the fuck out of my practice.”

Harry looked up quickly - he hadn’t expected that. Although perhaps he should have. “You’re not going to cure me?”

“Of what?” Draco’s tone was clipped, impatient, his eyes narrowed. “You’re clearly not cursed. You don’t have any symptoms. I sense no dark magic in your presence. I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish, but I can assure you I don’t have the time to humour you. Good bye.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. “I do have one symptom.”

Draco sighed heavily, but his face lightened. “What is it?”

“An erratic heartbeat.”

“An erratic heartbeat,” Draco repeated - he was making a habit of doing that. “You’re probably just unfit. It’s not un-“

“So you’re not even going to check to make sure?” Harry interrupted, shuffling on his seat. This was so not how he wanted this to go down. “It could be serious.”

Draco crossed his arms. “It’s not serious.”

“And how do you know if you’re not going to check?” Harry held his breath. If we was thrown out of Draco’s office now, the humiliation will have all been for nothing.

“Fine - “ Harry exhaled - "Lie down.”

Harry shuffled up onto chair fully and laid back. He squirmed a little at the cold plastic covering.

“Stay still,” Draco said, a hand coming out to rest on Harry’s shoulder, holding him in place. With his other hand, he passed his wand over Harry’s chest. Harry tried not to make it obvious when a shiver ran through him - he wasn’t so sure it was to do with Draco’s wand and not his touch.

“It  _is_ a little faster than normal,” Draco said quietly, dropping his hand. "Do you often feel out of breath?” He asked, eyes flickering back up to Harry’s face.

“Only around you.”

Harry watched Draco’s pale eyelashes flutter. “I’m not following.”

It look all of Harry’s Gryffindor courage (and plenty of recklessness too) not to look away. “You leave me breathless.”

Harry waited for Draco’s reaction. Nothing at first - it took a second - and then: “Oh no. Oh no.” Draco backed away. “Are you telling me this was all an elaborate set up so you could use that cheesy pick-up line?”

Harry felt his heart drop. “Maybe,” he said quietly, getting to his feet. It had seemed like a great idea over Firewhiskey with Ron and Hermione the previous night.

“That’s pathetic, Potter. You could do so much better than that.”

“Sorry,” Harry said, his face to the floor as he shuffled to the exit. “I didn’t mean to - I’ll just - “

“Come back tomorrow,” Draco said from behind him - Harry froze, hope rising in his gut. "Just make sure you have some better material.”

Harry turned around slowly, a smile forming on his face. “If that’s what the doctor orders…”

“Healer,” Draco corrected. He was back to staring over his chart again. “I’ll make your follow-up appointment 5.30pm tomorrow. “ He looked up at Harry and winked. “It’s my last session. Dress sharp.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/165668330791/healerdraco-injuredharry-pining)


	21. #teddy #auror #unresolved sexual tension

If you had told Harry Potter, back in his first year of Hogwarts, that he’d be sharing custody of a child with Draco Malfoy, he would have laughed. Loudly. But here he was, fifteen years later, and one of Teddy Lupin’s two legal guardians.

When Harry had accepted Remus’s offer to be Teddy’s godfather, although in the thick of war, he still never considered he’d actually have to raise someone else’s child. Teddy’s grandmother, Andromeda, had taken care of Teddy originally, which Harry was glad of - a 17 year old did not a father make. Still, he made sure to visit often. He knew what it was like to grow up without parents.

Harry wasn’t surprised that Draco visited just as often. Andromeda was his aunt after all, making Teddy his first cousin once removed.

Harry didn’t make a fuss the first time they’d bumped into each other at Andromeda’s, even though the last time they’d seen each other had been at Hogwarts, in the middle of a war, on opposite sides. He trusted Andromeda, and if she, as fiercely protective as she was, trusted Draco around Teddy, that was enough for Harry to do the same. Although, he still watched closely, curious to understand Draco’s behaviour.

Years past and Andromeda grew weary. She had already raised one child, and she was far too old to be chasing after another. As godfather, Harry knew it was his responsibility to take over as Teddy’s guardian, and no longer a teenager, he felt like he was ready. But Draco had insisted that it was he who should become guardian, as a blood relative.

They had argued like they might have back in their Hogwarts days, with taunts and snide jabs, even a  few hexes, before Andromeda put a stop to it. “How do either of you expect to raise a child if you still act like children yourselves?” She had yelled at them both, her words striking home as always.

Shared custody was Andromeda’s idea, but they both agreed it would be the best option for Teddy. He had already grown attached to both of them, and they both loved Teddy as if he was their own. On that, they were in agreement, if nothing else.

These days, they saw a lot of each other. Teddy made sure of that. They hadn’t quite reconciled all their differences, but they were civil, even polite to each other. They had to be for Teddy. But there was such a coldness to their interactions sometimes, that Harry wondered if it would be better if they just went at it, like they really wanted to. Said what they were really thinking.

Like that time when Draco dropped Teddy off at Harry’s office in the middle of a work day because he had an appointment, and Harry said, “Of course, no problem Draco. Please take your time,” but what he’d really wanted to say was, “You couldn’t have given me some warning so I could plan my day around this, you inconsiderate prat?”

Or the time Draco had taken Teddy on holiday and returned a day later than expected, and Harry said, “That’s okay, Draco, I’m glad you’re both back. I’m sure Teddy had a great time,” but what he’d really wanted to say was, “I thought you were both dead you selfish jerk, you never thought to owl ahead to let me know?”

Or last week when Draco had to reschedule their agreed custody routine because he had a date on Thursday night and Harry said, “Hope you have a lovely night,” but what he’d really wanted to say was, “I hope your date throws wine in your face and leaves you with the bill.”

It’s not like Teddy didn’t know what was going on. He was a perceptive kid. The whole situation was ridiculous.

* * *

When Draco picked up Teddy on Monday morning, he wasn’t particularly chatty. Harry thought better of asking him about the date, or engaging in any small talk at all.  

However, the next time they saw each other, when Draco dropped Teddy back off at Harry’s office Friday afternoon, Harry’s curiosity got the better of him.

“How was your date?”

“Pleasant, thank you, Harry,” Draco said with the forced politeness that Harry utterly despised.

“It was awful. He brought roses!” Teddy added as he bounded into the room, taking up his favourite position on Harry’s desktop - right on top of his important case files.

Harry watched Draco’s face twist a little to the sour side as he was caught in a lie. Harry didn’t mind - he preferred it to the mask of politeness they usually wore around each other.

Harry turned to Teddy. “And what’s wrong with roses?” He asked.

Teddy shrugged. It was Draco that answered. “Red roses are a symbol of deep love. They’re hardly appropriate for a first date. What is he going to get me for the second, an engagement ring?”

“So you’re going out with him again?” Harry asked. Purely out of curiosity of course.

Draco scoffed. “Of course not. I’m simply saying if the man doesn’t know the proper stages of courting, it was never going to work.”

Harry stopped himself from laughing. “And what  _are_ the proper stages of courting?” He asked, trying to keep his voice serious.

Draco’s eyes narrowed, his eyes darting over to Teddy and back to Harry. “Why do you want to know?” He asked sharply.

There was something to his tone that made Harry want to continue. To see how far they could take the conversation before they ended up fighting. There was a thrill to a conversation like that. But Teddy was here so:

“I don’t,” Harry replied, replacing his mask. “Just making small talk.”

Draco nodded politely, following Harry’s lead. “Thanks for looking after Teddy last week.” He blew a kiss to Teddy. “Bye Teddy.” As was their custom, Teddy caught the kiss and placed it his his pocket. “Bye Harry,” Draco added, already halfway out the door.

Harry didn’t bother to reply. He couldn’t help but think that without their connection of Teddy, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter weren’t anything to each other anymore. Not even enemies.

* * *

Harry knew he shouldn’t, that he was overstepping, but the thought of Draco dating had thrown him and he itched to know more. He hadn’t known Draco to date anyone. Not that he was keeping track. But surely he would have heard.

Back in his apartment with Teddy, he asked as casually as he could over their traditional late Friday night bowl of cereal: “What else did Draco tell you about his date?”

“That he’s boring,” Teddy said between chomps, “That there was no chemist-tree and - “ Teddy burst into giggles spraying some of his milk across the table.

“What?”

Teddy kept giggling, dropping his spoon back into his bowl with a splash.

“Teddy…”

“He said,” Teddy said through his laughter, “that it would be like  _doing it - “_ Teddy giggled especially hard at those words _\- “_ with a wooden plank.”

Harry dropped his own spoon to the table with a clatter. “He said that to you?”

Teddy shrugged, looking guilty now. “To Aunty Pans. I was supposed to be sleeping.”

Harry stood up, pushing his cereal aside. He’d had enough of playing polite with Draco.

* * *

“Harry? Where’s Teddy? Is something wrong?”

“Teddy’s fine,” Harry quickly clarified, stepping into the Manor. “He’s with Ron and Hermione.” Regardless of his anger, he knew the familiar anxiety of not knowing where your child was and wouldn’t wish that undue fear on anyone.

“Oh.” Draco closed the door and turned to Harry, crossing his arms, his demeanour instantly changing. “Then what are you doing here?”

“To tell you to stop having your dirty sex gossip with Pansy in earshot of Teddy.”

“My dirty sex gossip, what are you - “ Draco’s eyes grew wide. “Oh. What did he hear?”

“Just the sordid details of your date last week.”

Draco’s face flushed. “It’s not what it sounds like. The guy was terribly dull. I was just suggesting he was so bad that even you, in comparison  _only_ , would a better lay. That’s all. I didn’t mean that I want to  - “

“You said  _what_?” Harry interrupted, his mind ticking over into overdrive. Draco had been talking about having sex with  _him?_

“Isn’t that what Teddy - “

“Not quite.”

There was a silence as they both processed Draco’s revelation. There were no masks tonight.

“Well,” Draco finally said in a cold drawl, “either way, it didn’t mean anything, so I wouldn’t overwork that tiny brain of yours thinking about it.”

“Tiny brain?” Harry repeated, trying not to show his thrill at the first insult thrown between them in years. “Is that the only insult you can come up with?” He goaded.

“No, actually,” Draco said with a sneer. “How about overbearing? Stubborn? Deluded?”

Harry laughed. “That’s nothing to you. Selfish. Arrogant. Inconsiderate. Entitled.” The words came out easy after years of holding them back.  

“By all means, Potter, let it all out.”

Harry froze. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard…

“What?” Draco barked, obviously seeing something in Harry’s face.

“It’s just you called me Potter, I’m not used to - “

You don’t need to reprimand me,” Draco interrupted. “Teddy’s not around. No harm done.” He opened the door and put on a smile. “Thanks ever so much for stopping by,  _Harry._  I’ll be sure to take your parenting advice into consideration.

* * *

Harry wasn’t quite sure how to act around Draco anymore. Things had changed between them. Not only did he know that Draco was discussing the thought of having sex with him with Pansy, but he’d also had a taste of their older arguments, and the supercharged feeling that came with them. He wanted more.

The following Monday when Draco picked Teddy up, Harry waited to see how Draco would act first. He was disappointed.

“Harry,” Draco said simply with a smile and a nod. Harry would have preferred a scowl.

“Draco,” Harry responded, mimicking the nod but not quite able to manage the fake smile.

As Draco turned to leave with Teddy, unplanned words tumbled out of Harry’s mouth. “Actually, Draco, wait.”

Draco paused in the doorway. “Yes?” His voice sounded strained. That was something, at least. Something more than cold politeness.

Harry said the only thing he could think of. “Happy birthday for tomorrow.”

Draco turned back, his mask still up, but something in his eyes. “You remembered.”

“Teddy told me.”

“No I didn’t,” Teddy corrected. Of course Harry couldn’t get anything past him.

“It happens every year,” Harry said quickly. “Of course I remembered.”

Draco’s lips twitched. “You didn’t last year.”

“Yes I did,” Harry said honestly. “I just didn’t know if you wanted me to say anything.”

“And now you don’t care what I want?” Draco questioned, an edge returning to his voice. Harry felt the familiar thrill, the anticipation of an uncensored conversation.

“Now  _I_ wanted to say something.”

There was a pause then in which Draco’s eyes darted to Teddy, sitting on Harry’s desk. Harry’s own followed. Teddy was staring back at both of them, he’d clearly been paying close attention to every word of their conversation.

“I’m having a dinner at the Manor with a few friends tomorrow to celebrate,” Draco said, back to his polite monotone. Harry looked back up to see the matching mask. “You should come.”

Come to his birthday dinner? Draco had never asked Harry to anything before. Did that mean Draco thought of him as a friend? Harry’s surprise, and an excitement he’d never admit aloud, must have been obvious in his face because Draco quickly clarified further.

“Teddy will need a responsible adult to look after him in case I have a few drinks.”

Harry nodded politely. “Sure,” he said, pulling on his fake smile.

* * *

The dinner was a ride off. At least, in terms of spending time with Draco. Harry spent the entire time entertaining Teddy while listening to Draco gossip with his friends in the next room. Despite Draco telling him so quite plainly, he didn’t realise he’d been invited to play nanny. He had thought - or hoped - Draco was playing their game of saying things they didn’t really mean. But clearly not.

Harry tucked Teddy into bed while Draco saw his friends off. He figured he’d quietly slip away and avoid any awkward encounter with Draco - from what he’d overheard Draco was quite tipsy. With one last kiss to Teddy’s forehead, Harry turned to make his quick exit.

“Dad,” Teddy called out behind him.

Harry hadn’t realised he was still awake. He turned back to Teddy.

“You have to get rid of the boggart in my cupboard.”

Harry followed Teddy’s eyes to the tall cupboard opposite the bed. It was a needlessly grand thing with embellished edges and a gold rim, that Harry supposed could actually be real, considering the house - no, manor - he was in. More importantly though, it was still.

“There’s no boggart in there, Teddy,” Harry said gently.

“But daddy always gets rid of the boggart,” Teddy said, sitting up in bed.

“Every night?”

Teddy nodded, eyeing the cupboard suspiciously.

Harry supposed there was nothing else for it. He pulled out his wand and walked over to the closet. He opened the door just a crack at first - of course, no boggart appeared - before pulling it wide open. He turned to Teddy. “See, no boggart. You’re safe here, Teddy.”

Teddy shook his head. “No, you have to do the spell or it will escape!” He insisted.

Before Harry could react, Draco’s voice interrupted them. “Move aside, Harry, I can handle this,” he said, leaning by the doorway, his words a little slurred from the alcohol.

So much for quietly slipping away.

“Don’t scare him,” Harry whispered, moving to stand in front of Draco. He didn’t think humouring Teddy’s fears of the cupboard, which apparently Draco did every night, was the best parenting approach.

Draco rolled his eyes at Harry and pushed past him, brandishing his wand dramatically. “Where did it go, Teddy?” He stage-whispered. “Is it still in the cupboard?”

Teddy shook his head. “It escaped!”

Harry watched as Draco crept around the room, slowly, making a show of pointing his wand at every dark spot, and every corner. Teddy was watching too - his eyes following Draco’s every move with rapt attention.

“Is it” Draco whispered, eyes wide, “under the bed?”  

Teddy jumped up. “It’s under the bed, it’s under the bed,” he chanted, clapping his hands together.

Draco nodded seriously to Teddy, his eyes darting over to Harry for a second, before he dropped down and rolled underneath. “It’s here, I’ll get it,” Draco called out, out of breath as if in a struggle, “Hold on, Teddy.”

From Harry’s vantage point by the door, he could clearly see Draco simply lying on his back alone under the bed, but Teddy standing above seemed convinced by the theatrics, especially when Draco let loose some colourful smoke from his wand that rose up above the bed.

Teddy jumped on the bed, eyeing the smoke excitedly - sleep would be well off now. “Did you get it? Did you get it?”

“Almost!” Draco let off some more smoke and rolled over to his side, facing Harry. He winked and then: “Riddikulus,” he shouted as a flash of light filled the room.

Harry couldn’t even process the fact that Draco had managed to cast a non-verbal spell while  simultaneously saying the incantation to another spell aloud, because he was still hooked on the wink. Draco Malfoy had winked at him. A somewhat drunk Draco Malfoy had winked at him.

“Got it!” Draco confirmed, popping up beside Teddy, who was jumping on the bed enthusiastically, clapping his hands at the show. “But now you have to sleep.”

Teddy dropped down immediately, pulling himself under the covers.

“You know the spell?” Draco asked softly.

“Ridikkulus.”

Draco nodded. “Goodnight,” he said with a kiss to Teddy’s forehead.

“Night,” Teddy said sleepily, his eyes already closed.

Draco looked up at Harry watching him, and got to his feet a little clumsily, holding onto the bed for support. He smiled lazily. “You’re still here.”

Too late, Harry realised he’d been given the perfect opportunity to escape, but he’d been as enraptured in Draco’s performance as Teddy. “I’m leaving now.”

Draco sauntered over to Harry, the alcohol exaggerating his usual strut. “Aren’t you going to reprimand me for my terrible parenting?” He leant an arm against the doorframe by Harry’s head. “I know you want to.”

There was a silly giddiness to Draco’s demeanour that left Harry unsure whether Draco was starting an argument or flirting with him. Although it had to be the former. Obviously.

“It…wasn’t terrible,” Harry admitted. “We’re shouldn’t talk about this in front of Teddy,” he added as an afterthought, eyeing Teddy past Draco’s head. He certainly appeared to be asleep but Harry knew better than to believe it.

“Lead the way then,  _Potter_ ,” Draco whispered, emphasising Harry’s last name like a dirty secret.

Harry didn’t let himself read into that too much. He’d already decided Draco was not flirting. Just tipsy. He turned his back on drunk Draco quickly and headed down to the Manor’s Sitting Room, careful to keep his gaze fixed ahead. Why did Draco have to be a giddy drunk? He could hardly fight Draco like this. Perhaps it would be better just to leave now. Why, then, was he not heading for the door?

Harry gave up on his internal battle and perched himself on the edge of an armchair when they reached the sitting room. He would leave soon.

“I suppose you’d have preferred it if I told him there was no boggart. That there’s nothing to be afraid of?” Draco said with a wave of his hand, slumping onto the couch opposite. He slipped down so most of his back was on the seat of the couch, his head tucked in close to his chest.

Harry hadn’t seen Draco like this before. The only time Draco lost his composure in front of Harry was during an argument - which explained the thrill to it - but here, this, was something different.

“That’s what I would have done,” Harry responded when he realised he’d been staring at Draco for too long.

“And you’re always right, of course,” Draco said, a touch of sarcasm under baked in his tone. Harry suspected this would be a very different conversation with a sober Draco.

“Maybe not,” Harry admitted. Draco’s method was effective, and somewhat endearing to watch. And now Harry was getting all sappy about it. Great.

“A-ha!” Draco shouted, sliding right off the couch to his knees and standing up. “You think I’m right.” He stumbled forward and stood over Harry. “You think I’m right,” he repeated, quieter.

He was looking down at Harry with such softness, something Harry had never been exposed to. When Draco let his guard down, there was always something harder underneath. But not this time. Not at all.

Harry stood up quickly, but that didn’t help like he thought it would. Instead he found himself much closer to Draco, looking directly back at the softness. He extracted himself as fast as he could, stepping back around the chair so that it stood between them.

“I should probably head off now,” Harry said awkwardly. “Happy birthday, Draco,” He added as an afterthought.

Draco smiled that lazy smile again. “You don’t have to call me that. Teddy’s not here.”

“Right.  _Malfoy._ ” Harry corrected. He hadn’t said the name in so long it felt strange on his tongue. But he liked it. Fuck, he really liked it.

“I’ve missed that,” Draco said with a sigh, his eyes closing. “Potter,” he whispered back.

Harry shivered. “I should go,” he suggested again. He was starting to feel a little light headed and he hadn’t even been drinking.

Draco shrugged and fell into the armchair. “You should do what you want, Potter,” he mumbled.

Harry stared at Draco. He’d been ready to leave but Draco looked as if he might fall asleep  at any moment. And he couldn’t just leave him there. Well he could. But he didn’t want to. He sighed. This night had well and truly confused things.

“Come on, Malfoy,” he said, nudging Draco’s shoulder, “I’ll take you to bed.”

Draco smiled, but didn’t open his eyes or move. “Oh will you now, Potter?”

“To  _your_  bed,” Harry clarified.

“I don’t care whose bed we do it in,” Draco said, and then started giggling. Actually giggling. It reminded Harry very much of Teddy -  the giggling, not the casual explicit flirting.

Harry chose to ignore the come on. He reminded himself that Draco was very much drunk and uninhibited. He reminded himself that Teddy was sleeping right above them. He focused on those thoughts so he wouldn’t have to deal with the more confronting one - that he so wanted to take Draco up on the suggestion. That he was very much attracted to Draco Malfoy.

He ended up levitating Draco up the stairs - “Why don’t you just tie me up while you’re at it, Potter?” - to avoid the all too much contact involved in pushing, pulling and tugging Draco’s tired body around.

When Harry let Draco down into his bed, he tried to do so as gently as possible, as it appeared that Draco had already started to fall -

“Coming in?” Draco asked sleepily, rolling over.

“Not tonight,” Harry whispered back before he knew what he was saying. Draco didn’t reply after that so Harry hoped perhaps he hadn’t heard anyway. He pulled the covers up around Draco, not brave enough to handle the clothes or shoes situation, and finally made his exit.

There was no way Draco would be able to manage the cold mask at their next meeting after this. No way.

* * *

Harry was wrong of course.

Friday had already been a particularly stressful day for him. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was under scrutiny for a number of unsolved cases and all the aurors were working overtime. Harry hadn’t even realised the time until Draco and Teddy turned up at his office.

“Good afternoon, Harry,” Draco said cordially, as Teddy rushed in.

A formal greeting. Draco might as well have slapped him across the face. Actually, Harry would have preferred that.

Harry quickly stopped Teddy from jumping up onto his desk, bringing him in for a hug instead before setting him firmly on the ground. Usually he didn’t mind, but he’d been working a little scattered today, paperwork on all surfaces, and he couldn’t risk losing any of it. He’d been out on the field since lunch and hadn’t had a chance to complete any of his reports.

“A busy day for you, then?” Draco commented politely, a disingenuous smile covering his real face.

Harry didn’t bother to reply to that. Polite small talk rarely required an actual answer. But there was something he needed from Draco. He really hated to ask, especially when Draco was playing this game. “Can you stay and look after Teddy for a bit? I’m going to be at this for a while.”

“Sure.” Of course Draco had to agree or forfeit the game. Harry didn’t like it but he needed the help either way. And if it meant he could get his reports finished before the weekend…

With Teddy occupied, Harry should have been able to concentrate, but he hadn’t really anticipated how much Draco’s presence would affect him. He was sitting by the door casting colourful shapes for Teddy to catch . They were both giggling. Clearly a trait inherited from the Black family for both of them then.

Harry looked back down at his paperwork. He couldn’t absorb the words. Not with that sound in his ears. He really was screwed.

“Draco,” he called, beckoning him over. “Perhaps you two could go for a walk or something,” he whispered so Teddy wouldn’t hear. “I’m having trouble focusing on work.”

Draco smiled at Harry. “Perhaps you should focus less on your work, and more on your family,” he whispered back, his words stinging despite his polite tone. “Teddy, I mean,” he added.

“That’s an easy thing for someone without a real job to say,” Harry said, mimicking Draco’s tone.

“If that’s a jab at my wealth, shall I remind you that you’re just as loaded as I am. You don’t need to have a 9-5 job either. You choose to waste your - “

“Waste my time?” Harry interrupted, standing up. “I’m an auror, not a phoney philanthropist.”

Draco’s fake smile dropped but he held his tone. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, we can’t all find value in throwing lavish parties to sate our hedonistic tendencies, all in the name of the latest popular cause.”

“So what if I enjoy a party? I didn’t realise you were so uptight."

“You spend more money on the party than is donated to the cause!” Harry’s voice had started to rise. Despite his genuine anger, he couldn’t deny the excitement of sparring with Draco again.

“I don’t see  _you_ donating anything.”

“Exactly. You don’t  _see_  it. Because I don’t use charity as a means to promote my status.”

“You don’t  _need_ to promote your status!” Draco yelled, finally dropping all pretence. “You’re Harry Potter. Some of us weren’t born so lucky.”

“Oh I see,” Harry said sarcastically. “I’m  _lucky_ Voldemort murdered my parents. I’m  _lucky_ I grew up in cupboard under the stairs. I’m  _lucky_ Voldemort killed me.”

Draco snorted. “Don’t be so outlandish. You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“Not what you’ve been through. Who you are.” Draco waved a hand at Harry. “The perfect poster boy.”

“I’m not perfect.”

“Trust me, I know  _that_ , Potter.”

They both froze at the same time. Harry’s last name on Draco’s lips, something they had been so careful to avoid, reminded them both of their current company. They turned to Teddy in unison.

Teddy smiled, in that carefree way only a child can, and shrugged. He’d clearly heard every word. “It’s okay. Marley said her parents fight all the time.”

“Marley?” Draco questioned.

“She lives next door,” Harry quickly explained.

“A muggle?”

“Yes.” Harry said tightly. He wanted to say more to that revealing question but held it back, realising they’d already done enough damage in front of Teddy. “We’re not fighting,” He said instead, addressing Teddy.

“Yes, you are,” Teddy insisted.

“No, we’re not.”

“Yes, you  _are_.”

“No, Teddy, we’re not,” Harry said firmly. “We’re having a minor disagreement.”

“A minor disagreement?” Repeated Draco, his voice had returned to a cold politeness for Teddy’s sake, but he fixed Harry with a contrary expression.

Teddy wasn’t fooled. “Mrs Oakson said - “

“Mrs Oakson?”

“Marley’s mother,” Harry explained for Draco quickly again, wondered where Teddy was going with this.

“Mrs Oakson said fighting is okay as long as you make up before you go to sleep.”

“We’re not fighting,” Harry said again, eyeing Draco for support.

“But,” Teddy started to giggle. “Marley said she thinks her parents make  _out_ before they go to sleep.”

“We’re not fighting,” Draco said immediately, finally backing up Harry. It didn’t help.

“You need to make up,” Teddy said, matter of factly, as if it were as simple as shaking hands.

“We don’t need to make out,” Draco said. “I mean  _up_. Make up. We don’t need to make up because we’re not fighting.”

Teddy giggled at Draco’s stumble and made a show of closing his eyes and covering his ears.

“Teddy, what are you doing?” Harry asked.

Teddy turned around and started a chant of “Lalalalala…”

Harry understood although he immediately wished he didn’t. He laughed nervously. “I think he wants us to make out.”

Draco wasn’t as amused. “This isn’t funny. We shouldn’t have argued in front of him.”

“He’s not stupid, Malfoy. He knows we hate each other. All this pretending is rather silly.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “ _You_  started it,” he accused.

“I started being civil,” Harry corrected. “I didn’t turn it into this.”

“And what is this?”

“All the fake smiles and polite chatter, all this not saying what we mean.” Merlin, Harry hated it. And after the taste of something else, something real, how could he ever go back to it?

“Then, go on, Potter, say what you mean. I’m not stopping you. Teddy’s not listening. The floor is yours.”

Harry hesitated. As much as he despised it, there was a certain safety to the pretence. But an unbearable numbness to it as well. He sighed and started small: “I don’t hate you.”

Draco snorted. “That’s your big revelation? It’s hardly news. I don’t hate you either, Potter. Because I’m not a child. Obviously.”

“Okay here’s what I think of you - you’re  _so_  incredibly frustrating,” Harry said, his voice rising dangerously again. He hoped Teddy’s singing was enough to drown him out. “Why do you have to be so defensive all the time?”

“I wouldn’t have to be if  _you_  weren’t so judgmental. I can see you watching me with Teddy all the time. It’s like you want me to slip up or something. But you don’t know what you’re doing any more than I do.”

Is that what Draco thought?

“That’s not why I watch you,” Harry said quietly. How was he going to explain this?

“But you  _do_ watch me.”

“I - I - “ Harry started, unsure how best to put it.

“Aren’t we supposed to be saying what we mean here?” Draco said impatiently.

“I’m attracted to you,” Harry blurted out. Definitely not how he’d wanted to put it. But it  _was_ accurate.

“What?” Draco’s voice had lost it’s edge but he hadn’t quite returned to politeness either. There was a softness to it that reminded Harry of Draco’s birthday earlier in the week.

“I’m attracted to you,” Harry repeated. It was too late to retract it. “Happy now, Malfoy? That’s why I watch you. The way you are with Teddy - it’s  _attractive_.”

Teddy’s singing filled the room as Draco and Harry stared at each other.

“Well, say something,” Harry said when he couldn’t take it any longer.

“Give me a second. I’m just absorbing this. Enjoying the moment,” Draco said as a smile crept onto his face. It bore no resemblance to the fake smile Draco had been wearing earlier.

Still, Harry wasn’t quite sure what it meant.

“You had plenty to say the other night,” Harry said, hoping to goad something more out of Draco. He had come on to Harry more than once, after all.

Harry was pleased to see a tinge of pinkness in Draco’s cheeks. “I was drunk.”

“So you didn’t mean any of it?”

“Quite the opposite, actually.” And there it was again - Draco winked at Harry. Merlin, that wink.

“You want to - “

“Have sex with you?” Finished Draco. “Almost definitely.”

Harry blinked. Saying what they meant was clearly far superior to small talk. Why had they wasted so much time?

“Are you going to say anything?” Draco asked.

“Can’t I just enjoy the moment?” Harry teased.

“Fuck you, Potter.”

“Mind the language. I think we’re supposed to make up now.”

“I could have sworn Teddy mentioned something about making  _out_?” Draco said, tilting his head.

Harry could practically hear his heart beat quicken. “You wish.”

“Oh yes, Potter,” Draco said with quirk of his eyebrows, “I really do.”

And then Draco climbed up onto the desk, between them, as if he climbed on desks all day. Just jumped straight up as if it were as normal as breathing. Harry found he couldn’t give a thought to the fate of his paperwork, not when Draco was basically crawling over it to him. Merlin. Draco Malfoy was climbing over his desk.

There was only one thing for it. He leant forward to capture Draco’s lips with his own. Harry had enjoyed sparring with Draco - a momentary reprieve to the numbness of their wasted encounters, but this, this was more than just a reprieve, it was an explosion of feeling, the opposite of numbness. This was the real thrill Harry had been searching for. And from Draco’s enthusiasm, it was clear he felt the same.

Neither of them noticed that Teddy had stopped singing some time ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/165865840621/teddy-auror-unresolved-sexual-tension)


	22. #smut #nsfw #oblivious!Harry

There were pros and cons to being attracted to your boss. The cons, Draco wasn’t too fussed about. His reputation couldn’t get much worse anyway (he was an ex-death eater after all), and it’s not like he didn’t have the money to get by if he lost his job. The only reason he’d worked so hard to become an auror in the first place was because of Harry Potter.

And therein laid the pro - his boss was Harry Potter.  Gorgeous, delectable, dreamy,  _oblivious_  Harry Potter.

Draco certainly wasn’t the only one in the office charmed by Harry. He’d noticed some of the other aurors staring too - during the rare moments when he could pull his eyes away from Harry. And it wasn’t just Harry’s looks. If it were just that, Draco would have gotten over it years ago. No, Harry had to be brave too. And powerful. And a little wild. And above all, kind.

Draco knew it was sappy of him but, Merlin, did he find that kindness sexy. Harry was the type of boss who took responsibility in the media when you messed up in the field. The type of boss who would take over your reporting for you (despite his own ridiculous workload) when he could see you were stressed or affected by a particularly emotional case. He was the type of boss who never treated you as if he were your boss at all.

Of course, Draco wouldn’t have minded if Harry threw his weight around a little. The fantasies Draco had of Harry often involved him doing just that - albeit with a few orders that would be highly inappropriate for the workplace. But no matter how obviously Draco pined, Harry still didn’t seem to notice. He really had no idea of his effect on people.

So when Harry called Draco into his office - the start to many a fantasy - last thing on a Friday before he could leave with the other aurors, Draco knew Harry wouldn’t understand the thoughts that were running through his head. Empty Department. Friday night. Boss’s office. Harry Potter’s thighs.

* * *

Although Harry had clearly noticed something strange because he wanted advice. Draco’s advice.

“Do you think I’m too soft?” Harry asked, sitting not behind his desk, but on the front of it, with one leg draped up like he was posing for a photo or something.  _Oblivious._

Draco averted his eyes from Harry’s crotch - it wasn’t his fault it was at his eye level from where he sat, like a regular person, on a CHAIR. “Well, you’re certainly not as hard as I’d like you to be,” he commented, safe in the knowledge it would go straight over Harry’s head.

Sure enough: “So you think I should be stricter?”

Draco leant back in his chair, keeping his eyes firmly placed on Harry’s face. He did respect his boss after all. “Why do you ask?”

Harry adjusted his position, letting his legs fall open just that little bit wider and Draco’s eyes fell right back down. Well, he could hardly be blamed for THAT. “For starters, Bones doesn’t seem to listen when I talk to her and Peters is constantly in my office to demand changes to his work schedule.”

Draco laughed. That’s what was bothering Harry? Perhaps he finally needed to be told the truth. Enough was enough. “Bones can’t concentrate on what you’re saying because she’s drooling over your physique and wants to  _fuck_  you, and Peters, although being a complete twat about it, is just finding excuses to talk to you because he also wants to  _fuck_  you.”

As Draco expected, Harry didn’t believe him. “I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to make assumptions about - “

“They’re not assumptions. Bones and I talk about you all the time. And Peters, the bastard, was bragging last week because he was alone in the office with you for a full hour on Monday.”

Harry’s legs snapped shut (to Draco’s disappointment) and he stood up. “Peters had me go over his entire caseload for the next month,” Harry said, as if Draco needed an explanation. He knew Harry wasn’t the type that fucked his employees in his office - however much Draco wanted him to be.

Harry walked around his desk and fell - basically collapsed - in his chair. He seemed a little stunned. “And you and Bones…talk about me?”

Draco rolled his eyes. Even when he put it so plainly, Harry still didn’t get it. How could someone who affected so many be so oblivious? He leant forward in his chair and placed his elbows on the desk Harry had just vacated. “Yes, Potter, we’ve both got it bad for our boss, as does almost everyone else who works here.”

“You’ve…got it bad…for me?” Harry said slowly, his expression reminding Draco of a startled deer. “What do you mean?”

Draco snorted. He’d already spelled it out and now he was going to have to break it down letter by letter. It didn’t make sense that someone so intelligent could be so slow on the pick up. But Harry always was the humble one.

“I  _mean_ ,” Draco said, “I only became an auror to fulfil my fantasy of getting fucked in this very office by Harry Potter.”

Harry audibly gasped as if Draco’s confession revealed something that had not been as obvious as the sky was blue. And that was that. The secret, years in the making, was out.

Draco stood up, and fixed his eyes on a spot above Harry’s head. “I appreciate this might make you feel uncomfortable so I am more than happy to offer my resignation. I’ve already completed the paperwork for my finished cases, and if you’ll let me have one more day to compile my active - “

“Malfoy,” Harry interrupted. “You’re not resigning. Sit down.”

“It’s okay, really. It’s not like I - “

“Malfoy,” Harry interrupted again. “Sit down,  _now._ ”

Draco dropped to his seat immediately. It was the first time since Draco had been working for him that Harry had actually given him such a direct order. A shiver ran up Draco’s spine.

“I don’t care why you became an auror, I only care why you are one now,” Harry said, seemingly over his shock, his professional face returning.

“Because of you - “

“I don’t see why you would spend a month undercover in Romania, why you would work weekends, why you would take your paperwork home with you, if you only wanted me to fuck you.”

Although the context wasn’t exactly the best fuel for fantasy, hearing those last words from Harry Potter’s mouth was still uncomfortably arousing. Harry may have been able to maintain his professionalism saying them, but Draco had no choice but to cross his legs and hope it went unnoticed.

It didn’t. Harry’s eyes followed the action. After years of being completely oblivious,  _now_  he decided too catch on?

“I think you like being an auror,” Harry continued after a pause, “I think you’re good at being an auror. I think you belong here, regardless of me. Don’t you agree?”

Draco blinked under Harry’s gaze. Now it was his turn for shock. He hadn’t thought much on it before, but Harry was right. He did like being an auror. And not just because he got to work with Harry Potter. He loved working on cases. He even liked the paperwork that followed. Most people didn’t. But Draco did. And when he thought about what was waiting for him at home (nothing) he really didn’t want to resign. Not one bit.

“I thought so,” Harry said quietly, even though Draco hadn’t said anything. His silence was clearly answer enough.

So he wasn’t resigning, and he had just told his boss about his fantasy very much involving said boss. Draco really was a master of screwing things up.

“Right,” Draco said, after an uncomfortable silence, “I’ll see you on Monday, then.” He stood up to make his undignified exit.

“Wait,” Harry said, standing up himself. “I’m not finished.” He walked around his desk, towards Draco. Shit. Draco didn’t move. He couldn’t even if he wanted to. And he didn’t want to. Not when Harry was approaching him like that, like he might be planning on -

Draco felt it in the back of his neck, in the tips of his fingers first, before he even processed the feeling on his lips - Harry Potter was kissing him. It was a moment before Draco’s body came back into his control, but when it did he took full advantage, first - he pulled Harry’s glasses from his face so he could deepen the kiss, and then his hands were everywhere - feeling all the ridges of Harry’s back, grabbing hold of every strand of hair on Harry’s head, and finally - after months of discussing it with Bones - grabbing hold of Harry Potter’s arse. He’d have to share the details with her later. They’d both been wrong about what it felt like because there was no way they could have ever adequately described the perfection of it.

The kiss barely lasted five minutes before Harry pulled away. “I’m sorry,” he said, “This is incredibly inappropriate. I’m your boss.”

“I think it’s a bit late for that,  _boss_.” Draco pushed Harry forward so his legs hit the back of his desk. “We’ve already gone this far.”

Draco watched as indecision played out it’s journey on Harry’s face. He’d clearly enjoyed the kiss as much as Draco, but he was such a do-gooder too. And that side of him wouldn’t give up easy.

“Can’t Harry Potter be bad, just this once?” Draco whispered. “I promise you’re not taking advantage.”

Harry shivered and Draco knew he had won. “Fine, but I’m going to appoint a supervisor to monitor your work so that you no longer report directly to me. And if you ever feel like I’m treating you - “

“Blah blah blah, I get it Potter. You’re a saint. I already know and love that about you.” Draco flinched at his own choice of his words. Perhaps he was oversharing. He changed his tune. “Now I want to see you be  _bad_.”

And, Merlin, who knew that Harry Potter, definition of all that is good, could be bad, so  _very_  bad. He moved back into the kiss as if they’d never stopped, his lips a sin Draco was ready to commit over and over again.

Draco lifted Harry up so that he was sitting on the desk, his legs wrapped around Draco’s waist. And getting pulled in tighter by Harry Potter’s thighs really was a experience Draco would recommend to everybody if he didn’t intend to keep this man and said thighs all to himself for the rest of forever.

Harry’s hands went for Draco’s shirt buttons first, lifting the stakes.  Draco hadn’t realised they were heading for his fantasy until that moment. A kiss was one thing but fucking -  as much as Draco fantasised about it, he suddenly felt nervous. He brought his hands up to stop Harry’s.

Harry pulled back immediately. “I’m sorry. Is that not okay?” He asked, ever the literal perfect specimen of human Draco had ever encountered.

Merlin, this was embarrassing. He’d wanted this for ages, and now, when it was literally at his fingertips, he couldn’t go through with it. He dropped his head to avoid Harry’s eye. “Sorry, I know I said I wanted to - but I - it’s just - I’m a virgin.”

“Oh.” Harry was surprised. Of course he was. Draco was 25 for Merlin’s sake. He should have had several partners by now. But he’d spent all his adult life pining for Harry Potter. How pathetic.

“That’s okay,” Harry quickly continued. “We don’t have to do anything tonight anyway.”

“Sorry,” Draco said again, “I really did want to. And I am really into this.” His obvious erection was proof of that much.

“Don’t apologise,” Harry said gently, pulling Draco’s head up by his chin to fix him with that piercing stare Draco always dreamt about. “We can just make out if you want, or -“ there was a faint blush on Harry’s cheeks - “are there any other less physical fantasies you have?”

Draco didn’t understand. “What do you mean?”

“Well, there’s this one fantasy that  _I_ have which only requires you to watch…if you’re into that. And if you feel uncomfortable, I can always stop at any -“

Draco suddenly understood what Harry meant. He couldn’t answer fast enough. “Yes, I’m into that. Potter, I am  _very_ into that.”

Harry didn’t hesitate. His hands came straight back up to unbutton his own shirt buttons this time. Draco’s eyes followed the movement, every inch revealed of Harry’s chest, another hitch in his breath. As Harry peeled the shirt away from his shoulders, he brought up his foot and pushed Draco firmly in the chest so that he stumbled backwards and fell back into the chair behind him. Shit. Draco had never had this particular fantasy before but he was beginning to realise that it was a terrible oversight on his part. And he would soon be making up for it.

His shirt discarded, and having already slipped off his shoes, Harry’s hands had progressed to the buttons of his trousers, moving slower now. His hands paused and he looked up at Draco. “Is this okay?”

Draco wanted to scream Yes! Nothing had been more okay in his life than this moment. But, he settled for a snarky comment, although even then he couldn’t hide his eagerness to see Harry Potter naked. “Shut up, you gorgeous bastard and take your pants off.”

Harry obeyed immediately, leaning back and jerking his hips on the desk in a unintentionally provocative fashion, in order to pull the trousers off from underneath him. Papers from the desk flew to the ground around them. And that left Harry Potter, yes  _the_ Harry Potter, the boy who lived, Draco’s _boss,_  in nothing but his underpants, sitting on top of his own desk.

Merlin, Draco loved being an auror.

Even with his countless daydreams about Harry, nothing could have prepared him for this - Harry Potter running a hand down his chest, slowly - he was  _teasing_  Draco,  _fuck_ , and then Draco’s brain short-circuited. Because Harry was touching himself  _there,_  through his pants but still,  _there_. And as he touched himself, the material clung even tighter beneath his fingers so that he was basically outlining the shape of his cock for Draco to see. It was BLASPHEMOUS.

Draco’s poor virgin heart hadn’t known anything like this. He’d been disappointed that he couldn’t bring himself to live out his fantasy with Harry, but, Merlin, watching was something else. Watching was brilliant. Watching was 100% Draco Malfoy approved.

No wait - 110% Draco Malfoy approved. Because Harry Potter had just hooked his fingers in the waistband of his underwear and -

_Fucking Merlin Shit Christ Fuck._

Draco hadn’t realised he’d said those words aloud until Harry laughed. And wasn’t that just awful? Because Draco had to be assaulted by the utter perfection that was Harry Potter in all his senses. And he knew he was a goner.

He didn’t just like Harry Potter’s gorgeous bloody cock. He liked Harry Potter, full stop. He already knew it, but the fact that he adored Harry Potter’s laugh even more than he adored his cock (which was A LOT), was of particular concern. He needed to get his priorities in order, or prepare to protect his heart.

And right now, his priority was Harry Potter’s cock. Because the dreamy bastard had stopped laughing and was stroking himself, naked on the desk, staring right at Draco - although Draco suspected he couldn’t see much without his glasses. Still, it was lewd and debauched and utterly fantastic.

Draco’s pants had become uncomfortably tight early in the demonstration and he was fighting the urge to touch himself. On one hand (his left hand usually) he wanted desperately to stroke himself in time with Harry but on the other, he still felt nervous about it.

It was ridiculous, of course. Harry Potter was stark naked in front of him and Draco didn’t even feel comfortable taking off his shirt. It made him feel silly. He really should just touch himself. It wasn’t a big deal. He lifted a hand do just that and then dropped it again, changing his mind when it shook.

Harry - now Mr Observant for some infuriating reason despite his absent glasses - noticed. “You can…if you want to.”

Draco wasn’t sure if he did or not until Harry licked his lips. Licked his fucking lips. Did Draco mention Harry was a BASTARD? And Draco’s shaking hand was heading straight for his erection through his trousers.

Harry stopped stroking himself immediately and Draco was ready to panic and crawl up into a ball of embarrassment until he saw Harry was just reaching for his glasses.

Oh shit.  _He was reaching for his glasses._

Draco was supposed to be watching. Not the other way around. This changed things. But when Harry looked back up, glasses firmly planted on his face, along with an expression of undiluted want, Draco decided perhaps it wasn’t too bad this way either. He rubbed himself through his pants awkwardly under Harry’s gaze.

He had to pull himself together. Harry was NAKED. And Draco was the one feeling awkward. Go fucking figure. Harry was the brave one after all.

But Draco could be brave too, right? He’d proved that in the field as an auror many times. Although those times, Harry had never been staring at him as intensely he was now.

Fuck it. Draco was horny as hell, and he wanted to touch himself, Harry’s eyes be damned. He let his hormones overpower his nerves just this once and quickly unzipped his trousers.

Okay - his nerves still had a little bit of a say. He didn’t pull his pants down, but he did slip a hand beneath the waistband of his underwear and grip his now ridiculously hard dick. And he definitely didn’t imagine the hitch in Harry’s breathing at the action, despite the fact that Harry couldn’t be getting much of a view at all.

Harry had regained his stroking, with a tad more enthusiasm that Draco knew he had spurred on (and what a feeling that was), and Draco followed closely, matching the rhythm naturally, his eyes flicking between Harry’s movements and his face. Draco wasn’t sure which sight he enjoyed more. Harry’s dick was wonderful of course, but those eyes,  _fuck_ , Harry Potter’s eyes watching him, that was something else.

In the end, it was those eyes that led Draco to coming in his pants like the horny virgin he was. He might have felt embarrassed if Harry hadn’t come straight after all over his own desk and the remaining paperwork that hadn’t yet been cast to the floor. The sight of Harry’s orgasm face alone was enough to drive all other thoughts away for a blissful moment - the way his eyes fluttered shut and the little upwards quirk to his lip, almost like a smirk, the cocky naked bastard.

Coming down from his orgasm, the sound of his and Harry’s heavy breathing suddenly became amplified in Draco’s ears. He really hoped the office actually was empty - they hadn’t even spared a thought for silencing charms. He’d be sure to think of that next time.  _Next time._

Draco extracted his hand from his trousers, cast a quick cleaning charm on himself and Harry and zipped himself back up, suddenly feeling self conscious again.  Harry sat up a little straighter on the desk and closed his legs, but didn’t seem as concerned about dressing as Draco. Of course.

Although, Harry did look uncharacteristically nervous. His previous confidence, the cockiness of his orgasm, had vanished.

Harry adjusted his glasses. “I know this is just a fantasy for you, but for me, it’s a little more than that, so I think it’s best if we take it one step at a time and - “

Draco’s eyebrows flew up into his hairline. “Fuck you, Potter,” he had to interrupt. “You really are oblivious.”

Draco stood up and moved closer to Harry. How to make him understand? He still didn’t seem to be able to see what was right there in front of him, even when Draco had explained it so clearly. Draco had to try another approach, something Harry couldn’t interpret any other way.

So Draco leaned in and kissed Harry Potter again. But this time was different. It wasn’t about a fantasy. It wasn’t about kissing his boss. Or the saviour of the wizarding world. It was about Harry. Just Harry. It was about that moment and that moment only.

And Draco put everything that he could into the kiss. Passion, of course, but tenderness too in the slow gentleness of his movements as he held onto Harry’s lips between his. It was his way of saying “I love you” without actually having to say the words. And as oblivious as Harry he could be, Draco was quite certain he would be able to hear it quite plainly in the caress of Draco’s lips.

And one day soon Harry Potter would give Draco Malfoy the strength, the bravery he needed, to say those words for real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/166037670986/smut-nsfw-obliviousharry)


	23. #scars #forgiveness #fluff

The first time Harry Potter sees the scars he left on Draco Malfoy, it is almost two years later.

The worst part is that he hasn’t given them much thought at all since that horrible night where Draco lay there bleeding on the floor. So much blood. Indescribable pain that Harry had caused. And Harry had been so wrapped up in his own fight, that even after it was over, when Voldemort was defeated, he hadn’t even stopped to consider the damage he had done.

But walking in on Draco, in a supply closet of all places, with his shirt up around his head, a myriad of ugly red scars crisscrossing over his pale chest, Harry feels everything from that night all over again. Anger, confusion, regret and most of all, guilt. Guilt that presses down onto his lungs so hard, Harry isn’t so sure he can even  _breathe_.  

Draco pulls his shirt down immediately but it is too late. Harry has seen. He draws up all the air left inside of him.  “Malfoy, I’m so - “

“Forget it, Potter,” Draco says quietly, pushing past Harry.

Harry lets him go, the image of the scars burnt into his brain. They didn’t seem a year old, they looked almost fresh. But there was no mistaking the pattern. Those scars were Harry’s work.

 

* * *

 

The second time Harry Potter sees the scars he left on Draco Malfoy, it’s somehow even worse than the first.

Since the first incident, Harry has begun to notice Draco more and more. He is only just starting to realise he’d spent the whole eighth year ignoring Draco. How could he have missed the way Draco took absences midway through every class? Was he really so wrapped up in himself?

But now, he watches Draco on the map constantly, tracks where he goes, like sixth year all over again. But it’s different this time, he won’t hurt Draco again. After what he’s seen, he could never.

And when Draco excuses himself midway through Potions, Harry follows, watching on the map as Draco enters another supply closet.

This time he knocks.

There is no answer.

He knocks again. “Malfoy, it’s me. Harry.” he calls through the door awkwardly.

Silence.

“Harry Potter,” he clarifies.

A snort. Draco opens the door. “What do you want?” He asks calmly,  _guarded_. His shirt is untucked.

“Why - “

Draco follows Harry’s gaze and haphazardly tucks in his shirt. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Can I see?” Harry asks, the words flying out of his mouth recklessly. It’s stupid, anyway. Draco will never -

Draco lifts up his shirt. Harry isn’t sure why he does it but there’s something defiant in his expression, something challenging.

And then Harry takes another look at the scars. They’re even redder today, irritable and horrible, there’s even - “They’re bleeding,” Harry says aloud,  _horrified._  They’re STILL bleeding? His chest constricts so tightly, Harry expects his ribs to break.

“Well,” Draco says with a casual shrug, “You interrupted me before I could close them shut again.” He raises his wand and directs it at his own chest, whispering a string of strange spells Harry has never heard before

Harry watches as the bleeding slowly stops and the scars close up on Draco’s chest. A horrible thought occurs to him. A thought that sinks down into his gut. “Malfoy, have you…have you been  _reopening_ the cuts?”

“Have I been - “ Draco starts to repeat and then freezes. His whole face crumples. Sags. Harry recognises the expression - defeat. “You don’t know.”

“I don’t know what?”

“You don’t know,” Draco just repeats over and over again. He drops his shirt and slides to the floor of the closet, not looking at Harry. His face scrunches up violently. “You don’t know.”

“Malfoy, are you  _crying_?” Harry asks softly. Because Draco’s face looks exactly as it did that time he discovered him in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. The night Harry had cursed him.

“All this time,” Draco says quietly, “I thought you knew. I thought you were doing this to  _punish_  me. That you thought I  _deserved_  it.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asks quickly, not yet understanding. The weight in his chest increases.

“It’s  _your_ spell,” Draco accuses, raising his head to fix Harry with a glare. The malice in it would be harsher if it weren’t for the tears running down Draco’s cheeks.  

“I didn’t know what it would do,” Harry admits, his voice coming out weak due to the pressure in his chest. “I’d never used it before.” He takes a shallow breath - it’s all he can manage. “And I never will again.”

Draco nods and looks back down. “The spell. There’s no cure,” he explains. “They keep reopening. Severus taught me how to stop the bleeding but it’s only ever temporary.”

Harry lets the weight drag him to the floor beside Malfoy. And then he asks the question he doesn’t want to, but  _has_  to know the answer to. “Does it hurt?”

A pause.

“Yes.”

Harry feels nauseous.

“But I’m used to it now,” Draco continues. Although, Harry isn’t sure if he believes it.

“Malfoy,” he croaks as his throat threatens to close up. You don’t deserve this. I would never have - “ Harry stops himself. He’s making excuses. “I did this to you,” he says instead. “I am so sorry.”

Draco looks over to Harry. His tears have dried up but his face is still vulnerable,  _exposed._ “I suppose I have to forgive you now,” he says lightly.

“You don’t have to.”

Draco nods. “But I do.” He wipes his face, removing the remains of his tears and sighs. “I’m sorry as well…for…you know.”

Harry does know of course. And now he also knows that Draco has been punished far more than any of his crimes have warranted. He repeats Draco’s earlier words, although he can’t quite mimic the same lightness to his tone. “I suppose I have to forgive you now.”

“You don’t - “

“I do.” Harry interrupts quickly. He should have just said it. Draco doesn’t deserve any more suffering.

“What now?” Draco asks after a silence.

“You could teach me the spells?” Harry suggests. “The ones Severus taught you?”

“Why would - “

“I want to help.” No, he  _needs_ to help. It’s almost selfish of him. He needs to help Draco to make himself feel better about the damage he has inflicted. But at the same time, anything he can do to minimise Draco’s pain, he will.

Draco looks up with a smirk. But it’s gentle. Nothing like sixth year. “Are we friends now, Potter?” His tone is light again, but there’s something more behind it. He isn’t sure of Harry’s motives.

And neither is Harry. He shrugs. “Well, we’re not enemies anymore.”

“No, we’re not,” Draco agrees. “Fine, you can help.”

Harry feels some of the weight finally begin to lift.

 

* * *

 

Harry sees Draco Malfoy’s scars every day now. They don’t bother him as much as they used to but of course he’ll never be truly rid of the guilt. It may sit dormant inside his chest but the remaining weight of it will be with him forever.

There’s comfort in the fact he now performs the spells that heal Draco every day, as if he is slowly correcting his mistake. Where once the spell would need to be performed up to five times a day, now it’s usually only required twice. Once in the morning when he wakes up next to his husband, and a second time before they go to sleep at night.

Harry hopes in another few years, it may yet heal completely. But, regardless, Harry will spend the rest of his life making it up to Draco Malfoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/166130651961/scars-forgiveness-fluff)


	24. #scorbus #soulmates #angst

“Our sons are dating.”

Hearing Draco’s whispered voice in his ear brings Harry back to an earlier time. It’s both vivid and distant all at once. Harry allows the memory to fade as quickly as it comes to him - clinging onto to such things never helped in the past.

“You sound surprised,” Harry replies, not bothering to whisper back. Albus and Scorpius are too far away to hear them, already making their way onto the Hogwarts Express, holding hands as they had been all Summer.

“You don’t think they’re soulmates, do you?”

Harry’s jaw tightens at the word. Draco makes it sound like a bad thing. A terrible burden. “So what if they are?”

“I suppose it doesn’t matter to someone who doesn’t believe.”

A short humourless laugh escapes from Harry’s mouth. Draco was always good at picking fights where there was none. “I believe.”

“Ah,” Draco draws out the word. “I just wasn’t good enough, was I?” He asks, his cold humour cutting as always. “Thought you could pick again?”

Harry resists the urge to roll his eyes. He is determined to be a mature adult even if Draco isn’t. “Malfoy, don’t be dramatic.”

“I see, was I too dramatic? Did you prefer someone who wouldn't steal your spotlight? Who would stand behind you like an obedient little house-elf?”

“Clearly not, otherwise I wouldn’t have married Ginny,” Harry bites back. Ginny. Holyhead Harpies Team Captain. World Renowned Quidditch Player. Earns more than Harry’s fortune in a single year. More raw magical power in her pinky finger than most wizards have in their entire body. Obedient house-elf? Not so much. If she were here, she would have decked Draco for suggesting it.

“Why did you marry her?” Draco’s voice has lost some of its edge now, the hurt clear behind his words.

“Why didn’t I just wait around for you, you mean?” Harry counters, bitterness leaking into his tone. He’s mad and he wants Draco to know it. It’s not fair for Draco to play the scorned lover. Not when the part is rightfully Harry’s. “Why didn’t I follow you halfway across the world, or wherever the hell you went, like an obedient little house-elf, you mean?”

“All you had to do was - “

“You left.” Harry interrupts. “ _You_. So don’t you dare turn this around on me.”

Harry knows his face must be red with his anger. He can’t remember the last time he’d been so worked up like this. Not since Draco left. Draco Malfoy always had a way of drawing the uglier emotions out of him.

When too much silence has passed, Harry finally looks over to Draco and stares into the eyes of his soulmate.

“I had to,” Draco whispers. It’s not much of an excuse and Harry doesn’t know why he expected anything more.

He turns back to the train, watching the last trickles of students hurry in. “Well, I had to move on.”

Harry hears Draco clear his throat beside him. “I saw your divorce in The Daily Prophet. Did the Weas - did she find her soulmate?”

“She doesn’t have one,” Harry says stiffly. He’d sometimes been jealous of that. Not having a soulmate might have been easier. Anything would have been easier than having Draco Malfoy as his. “We both wanted children.” He adds by way of explanation. That had been the whole basis of their marriage. Harry had lied to Draco of course. He’d never really moved on.

“Do you think…” Draco trails off.

Harry looks up. “What?”

Draco shakes his head, eyes straight ahead. “Never mind.”

“ _What_ , Malfoy?”

“You used to call me Draco.”

Harry shrugs as casually as he can manage. “That was years ago,” he says. What he doesn’t want to say is how much it hurts to say that name. How it brings back memories of everything he had and lost. How it means so much more to him than just a name.

“Do you think that maybe we just had the timing wrong?” Draco finally continues his earlier thought, still not looking at Harry. “That we weren’t supposed to be together until…until now.”

Harry feels his breath leave him. “Now?” He chokes out.

Draco nods, his gaze fixed on the train. “If soulmates are real, so is destiny, or fate, or whatever you want to call it. I know I was meant to have Scorpius. He’s changed me, Harry, he really has. I’m a different person.” He turns to Harry as the train horn sounds. “I think now I could be who you wanted me to be. Who  _I_ want to be.”

Harry stares back at Draco while the sound of the train’s departure roars in their ears. As the train exits the station, the sound fades to a whisper and then to a silence between them. Finally, after years, there’s nothing in their way.

“You’ve kept me waiting long enough, Draco.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/166160313291/scorbus-soulmates-angst)


	25. #pining #sketches #quidditch

Draco calmly set about mixing his paints. He’d perfected a particular shade of green only the day prior, and he wanted to get it exact. He had plenty of time to get it right before he needed to begin sketching. Quidditch practice didn’t start for another twenty minutes or so.

He’d set up his canvas quite a distance from the pitch so that the players wouldn’t see him.  Of course, that also meant he couldn’t see them that well either so, as always, he’d brought his binoculars to get the best view of his intended subject - it was a bit of a hassle using them and painting at the same time but it was better than the alternative - being caught.

Not even Pansy knew he was out here. Not for lack of trying of course. She’d even taken to following him in the mornings but Draco was careful. This morning he’d led her on a goose chase around the castle before finally giving her the slip and heading outside.

It was surprisingly warm for so early in the morning, the harsh glares of the sun already in full force. Draco had created a shade for himself - magically stretching out the branches of a nearby tree to shield his pale skin from the sun. But the players wouldn’t be so lucky. He could just imagine the sweat rolling down a particular player’s skin. It would make for a great painting if he could capture it correctly.

The green paint turned out exactly as he wanted it, a perfect replica of its inspiration, Draco thought. He set it aside, eager for the chance to use it later. Since he had time to kill, he figured he may as well get a start on the background, so he began lightly sketching in the lines of the Quidditch pitch and the surrounding stadiums with a thin pencil. He’d just started drawing the hoops at the far side of the pitch when a voice pulled him out of focus.

“Malfoy?”

The second hoop became oblong. He knew that voice.

“Potter,” he greeted automatically, his voice cold - a reflex.  He turned around quickly, his pencil falling into the grass.

Potter was squinting at Draco’s sketch, using his broomstick, firmly planted in the ground, to keep balance as he leaned forward. Despite only heading for a practice he was dressed in his full scarlet Gryffindor Quidditch uniform, complete with a protective chest plate handing loosely from his shoulders, waiting to be strapped on properly. Draco resisted the urge to fix it himself.

“You draw?”

A snarky  _What’s it to you?_  on Draco’s lips was swallowed when Potter continued without waiting for an answer.

“Just the pitch? Or the players too?”

Panic filled Draco’s body settling itself as a niggling discomfort in his gut. “Just the pitch,” he said quickly, his eagerness to lie making him forget his desire to be contrary. Instead, his voice just came out rushed and squeaky. Lucky there were no witnesses otherwise his tough reputation would have been well and truly demolished, all by a couple of unextraordinary words from Harry Potter.

“Shame,” Potter said, standing up straight and lifting his broom. “Would you consider it? I’ve always wanted to be painted.”

Draco nodded against his will -  _what?_ Potter’s confidence was rather disconcerting. It clearly had the power to turn him into a squirming mess as well as a pathetic follower eager to please all at once.

Potter’s face lit up with a surprised smile - he obviously hadn’t expected Draco to be so agreeable - neither had Draco. “In that case, make sure you capture me from the left. It’s my good side.”

“Every side is your bloody good side,” Draco muttered to himself without thinking. Crap. There’s no way Potter hadn’t heard THAT embarrassing revelation. 

But Potter didn’t say anything further. He simply winked at Draco with those devilishly charming eyes (that made Draco’s knees go weak) before mounting his broom and flying off towards the pitch, his shape growing smaller and smaller until he was just a speck in the distance.

As soon as he could wrench his eyes away from Potter, Draco turned his focus to the shade of green paint he had created. He’d have to start again from scratch. It was nowhere close to the real thing.

Now that he had Potter’s blessing, more or less, he had to make everything perfect. After all, Potter would want to see the finished product. And Draco already knew that once he did, Potter would know exactly how Draco felt about him. How could he not when Draco channelled all of his emotions into his paintings? When every stroke of his brush that coloured Potter’s face was a gentle caress? It would be obvious to anyone.

Draco resigned himself to that fact and focused all his energy into the painting. If Potter liked it, Draco might just show him all the other finished canvases locked away in his dormitory too. It was about time someone else saw Draco’s work. And who better than Draco Malfoy’s muse, Harry Potter?

 

* * *

Draco was right of course. Potter returned immediately after practice, flushed and sweaty, expecting results. Draco didn’t have much to show yet - he’d spent most of his time working on mixing the right shades of green. But at the same time, he was almost certainly showing too much. Potter stared at the canvas for far too long.

Draco had started with Potter’s eyes and hadn’t got much further. Sketching over them again and again to get the precise shape, the precise look of concentration as Potter scanned the pitch for the snitch. And then came the colouring. What he had gotten wrong originally was trying to find the one right shade of green for Potter’s eyes, because there wasn’t one. There were a number of shades all swimming amongst each other. Vibrant. Ever changing. Alive. 

Draco thought he’d captured those eyes rather well in the end, but when Potter turned and his real eyes fixed themselves on Draco, all liveliness and wonder, Draco realised he’d never be able to do them justice. Potter’s eyes didn’t belong on paper. But Draco was starting to think, from the way Potter was blushing as he stared, that maybe, just maybe, Potter’s eyes belonged on Draco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/166343265621/pining-sketches-quidditch)


	26. #soulmates #eighth year #angst

 

Harry was biting his nails again. He couldn’t help it. He was about to meet his soulmate. His brain whizzed around with thoughts too fast for him to catch them all. Should he have dressed up nicer? Done something with his hair? Should he have brought a gift? What was he going to say? What if he didn’t like them? What if  _they_ didn’t like  _him_? What if they took one look at Harry and walked right back out the door?

So damn fucking right, Harry kept biting his nails. To calm some of his thoughts, he tried to focus on the facts he did know, rather than the endless things he didn’t.

His soulmate  _wanted_ to meet him. That much Harry knew. Harry had received a letter from a Soulmate Finder only a week ago, explaining they had been hired by his soulmate to find him, and that if he should wish to meet them, Harry should be in Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop at 12pm the following Saturday.

Still, his brain unhelpfully chimed in, they wanted to meet their  _soulmate_. They didn’t know they’d be meeting Harry Potter. What if he wasn’t what they had in mind? What if they wanted someone who didn’t bite their nails? Who was charming and smooth and so very unlike Harry?

Harry shook his head. He couldn’t keep letting those thoughts in. He pulled his hand from his mouth and cast a quick tempus charm. 11.59am. Close. Harry had been here far too long, humiliatingly early, but he hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything else all morning so he figured sitting and waiting was as good as pacing in his dorm. The staff kept shooting him sympathetic looks though, like he’d been stood up. Maybe he would be.

A chime at the door had Harry’s head lifting immediately, his breath catching, his palms instantly sweating. Could this be his soulmate?

Harry’s head dropped back down as quickly as it lifted. It wasn’t his soulmate. It was Draco Malfoy.

Of course.

 

* * *

 

 

Of course, Draco Malfoy would turn up at Madam Puddifoot’s of all places right when Harry was to meet his soulmate for the first time. Now, if he really got stood up, or rejected, the humiliation would be that much worse. Malfoy would surely never let Harry live it down. It would be his fuel to tease Harry for the remainder of their eighth year.

Harry kept his eyes focused on the doily in the centre of his table, tracing the pattern, hoping desperately that Malfoy wouldn’t spot him, and even more so that Malfoy would be seated in a dark corner of the tea shop, far away from Harry.

But of course, such luck avoided Harry today. How he wished he’d had the foresight to brew some Felix Felicis.

As the footsteps of the waitstaff and Malfoy approached, Harry could have sworn he’d heard a hushed plea of “No, please, not next to Potter,” before Malfoy was falling into the table directly adjacent to Harry’s, a familiar scowl on his face as the waitstaff explained it was the only one available.

As soon as the waitstaff disappeared without taking an order - apparently Malfoy was “waiting on someone” - Malfoy turned to Harry, catching him staring. “What?” He snapped.

Harry quickly turned back to his doily. ‘Nothing.” The desire to return to biting his nails was strong but Harry resisted. He’d need to be brave if he was going to meet his soulmate in front of Draco fucking Malfoy. He settled on tapping his fingers under the table instead.

Malfoy sighed, his irritation clear even before he spoke. “Can you  _not_ do that?”

Harry dropped his hand. “Sorry.” He placed his hands under his thighs to keep himself from fidgeting further.

With no distraction, Harry was hyper aware of Malfoy’s presence beside him, still and quiet, his body as rigid as a board. The silence stretched on. It was past 12 now. Where was Harry’s soulmate?

Harry’s waiter returned with a refill for his tea, as she had been doing for the full hour Harry had been sitting on this uncomfortable pink stool in this stupid tea shop. She leant in and spoke to Harry quietly, “I don’t think they’re coming, sweetie. Maybe I can get you a - “

“ _They’re coming_ ,” Harry interrupted, louder than he intended, feeling a blush rise to his face. Malfoy was sitting so close, Harry knew he had heard every word. Could there be anything more humiliating?

Luckily, the waiter didn’t push it any further. She smiled sympathetically and moved to the next table, leaving Harry with just his red face and Draco Malfoy for company.

“The she-weasel stood you up?” Malfoy’s voice was taunting as usual, but there was something else in it too, perhaps a hint of curiosity?

“Don’t call her that,” Harry muttered, to his table, not wanting Malfoy to see his face.

“My sincerest apologies, Potter, “ Malfoy said insincerely. “ _Your girlfriend_ stood you up?”

“Ginny,” Harry corrected, “is not my girlfriend.”

Harry could feel Malfoy’s eyes on him, but he still kept his head down. His blush had not yet died and he sure as hell wasn’t going to give Malfoy the satisfaction of seeing it.

“Then why are you waiting for her in the most romantic place in Hogsmeade?”

Harry’s head snapped up then. He couldn’t help it. “You think  _Madam Puddifoots_  is the most romantic place in Hogsmeade?” He repeated in disbelief. Yes, Harry supposed it  _was_  known for its snogging couples, but it was decorated like Mrs Figgs house with uncomfortable chairs and old-fashioned tea cups. It didn’t really add up to be romantic in Harry’s head, so much as tacky. But if Malfoy thought it was romantic… “Wait, who are you meeting here then?”

It was Malfoy’s time to blush, although Harry felt vindicated to see that when Malfoy blushed, there was no hiding it. Not with those tall cheekbones and deathly pale skin. “I don’t see how that’s any of  _your_ business.”

But it was too late for that. Now Harry had to know what, or who, could possibly make Malfoy blush that hard. “I’ll find out soon enough so you might as well tell me,” he teased.

“Why are you still here, Potter? You’ve clearly been stood up,” Malfoy bit back.

Malfoy’s irritation only made Harry even more curious. “Pansy?”

Malfoy snorted. “I think you’ll find she’s not quite my type.”

Harry thought he understood Malfoy’s meaning quite plainly. “Blaise?”

“What makes you think I’m going to tell you?”

“So it  _is_  Blaise! Are you two - “

“No!” Interrupted Malfoy, leaning over to Harry’s table. "It is certainly  _not_ Blaise.” He slumped back in his seat. “At least I hope not,” he muttered under his breath but Harry still caught it.

“You don’t know?”

The familiar tinkering of a bell drew Harry’s eyes straight back to the door, but it was only a couple leaving, hands tightly intertwined. Harry turned back to Malfoy to notice his eyes glued to the door as well. There was a tightness in Harry’s chest he couldn’t quite recognise yet.

“Malfoy,” he asked slowly, “who are you meeting?”

Malfoy sighed, his eyes dropping from the door, back to Harry. “My soulmate.”

It could have been a coincidence but Harry already knew It wasn’t. Draco Malfoy was his soulmate. He couldn’t find the words to explain it to Malfoy but it must have been clear in Harry’s face, because the same shock played out on Malfoy’s as the penny dropped.

Harry stared back at Malfoy, unblinking, for what seemed like four and half minutes, but in reality was only 17 seconds. And for those 17 seconds Madam Puddifoots felt a hell of a lot smaller.

Malfoy broke the moment with a cutting voice. “ _That’s_ what you wear to meet your soulmate?”

Harry looked down at his flannel and jeans and then back to Malfoy, taking in his fine black robes and crisp white shirt for the first time. Malfoy’s hair had been styled back with a very slight quiff at the front that would have easily taken some time to complete. He looked as if he might have been going to visit the Queen. He clearly wanted to make an impression on his soulmate. Before he knew it was Harry.

“And  _that’s_  the first thing you say to your soulmate?” Harry countered.

“Actually, Potter, I think you’ll remember the first thing I did was offer you my friendship. Which  _you_  denied.”

Harry could have laughed. Malfoy’s voice was accusatory as if it were Harry’s fault for rejecting his soulmate so early. As if Malfoy’s attitude hadn’t played a starring role in it.

“After  _you_  insulted Ron,” he clarified, returning the blame to the appropriate party.

Malfoy turned away back to his table, crossing his arms. “I suppose you wish Weasley was your soulmate,” he said quietly, the bitterness of his tone revealing something more than just his usual irritation. Malfoy was upset.

“No,” Harry said firmly.

“But you wish I wasn’t your soulmate.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to, Potter. Don’t worry, I don’t expect anything from you. This is clearly the Universe’s cruel joke. Punishment for all my wrongdoings.” Malfoy laughed but there was no humour in it. “My soulmate is the one person I could never have.”

“Malfoy - “ Harry started, tentatively lifting a hand to - what? Pat Malfoy on the back? Stroke his hair? Hold his hand? Harry didn’t know. He was interrupted before he could make up his mind.

“Go on,  _leave_ ,” Malfoy said, snapping up to face Harry, his eyes cold. “There’s no one else coming, you realise? It’s just me.  _Go_.”

Harry stood up, his stool making an awful scratching sound across the tea shop fall as he did. Malfoy’s eyes followed the sound and he didn’t look back up. He looked so small and vulnerable. So unlike the Malfoy Harry was used to.

Malfoy must have been particularly eager to meet his soulmate in order to seek out a Soulmate Finder. They were notoriously difficult to find and ridiculously expensive - the practice wasn’t illegal but certainly frowned upon - traditionalists argued soulmates should always be found “naturally”. He didn’t go to all that trouble just for Harry to walk out on him.

Harry walked around his table and stood across from Malfoy’s, looking down at his soulmate who seemed very interested in studying the plush pink carpet at their feet. Harry cleared his throat and Malfoy looked up sharply.

As Malfoy watched, eyes guarded, Harry slowly took the seat across from him and held out his hand, hoping it wasn’t obvious how much it was shaking. “Hi. I’m Harry, your soulmate.”

Malfoy blinked up at him, leaving Harry’s hand hanging awkwardly between them.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr…” Harry prompted when it seemed Malfoy would stay frozen forever.

“Oh. I’m Draco,” he said, his voice taking on an endearing squeaky quality. He finally took Harry’s hand in a firm shake. “Your soulmate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/166657434556/soulmates-eighth-year-angst)


	27. #giggles #sweaters #kissing

Harry wasn’t scheduled to be back from his overseas Auror operation for another day. He’d been planning to owl ahead but then decided to surprise his husband instead. Harry had been working so much, they’d hardly seen each other since Christmas. Harry often debated whether he should just retire and spend every waking moment with Draco. He loved his work too. Just not as much.

He entered the house quietly, determined to catch Draco by surprise just this once - he always seemed to know Harry’s move even before Harry did. Harry tiptoed past the living room, heading for the bedroom - it was late and Harry figured Draco would be in the middle of his nightly read before bed - but a flicker of light caught his eye.

Their fireplace was alight but not just with orange flame, a myriad of blues and pinks and greens and purples intertwined and wove themselves through the fire, a careful dance of light and colour. Harry’s eyes lowered to take in Draco, sitting before the fireplace, his wand rising and falling in time with the patterns of the fire.

Harry’s mouth fell open on its own. But it wasn’t the fire show that surprised him. He had seen it at Draco’s hand a million times before - each time as unique as the last. No, it was what Draco was wearing: a scarlet hand-knitted sweater. And Harry didn’t need Draco to turn around to know there was a big golden ‘D” knitted into the front.

“Honey, I’m home,” Harry called out softly, his voice teasing - Draco didn’t like to play domestic.

Draco was on his feet and twirling around in an instant, his wand pointed at Harry, the flames faltering sadly behind him. Perhaps surprising Draco when he was armed hadn’t been Harry’s wisest move.

Harry rose his arms in a mock surrender. “Surprise?”

Draco’s wand fell to the floor and he ran the small distance across the room to Harry, enveloping him in an impressively warm hug. Harry’s face was still cold from the icy wind outside and he gladly pressed it up against Draco’s chest - he’d been right about the D on the sweater.

“Harry,” Draco said Harry’s name, more breath than vocal chords, holding him tighter still. Harry knew exactly how he felt.

Harry lifted his head from Draco’s chest, gripped Draco’s hips for support and pushed himself up on his toes to gain the height required to play tongue-hockey with his husband. But he didn’t get further than a small peck before Draco was pulling away, giggling.

“Your lips are  _freezing,”_ he complained, holding Harry back by the shoulders.

“Maybe you can warm them up?” Harry suggested with a not-so-subtle raise of his eyebrows, leaning up again.

This time Draco let him, their lips meeting together in a clash of fire and ice. Draco’s lips were warm and soft, capturing Harry in a comforting familiarity. Draco. Husband. Home. Harry knew his own lips wouldn’t feel quite the same to Draco - the coldness had to be bracing. But after his initial complaint, Draco made no further comments, falling easily into a pattern they both knew.

Harry let his hands drop and sneak up beneath the hem of Draco’s sweater and up past his undershirt to land on the bare skin of Draco’s torso.

Draco jerked back immediately, giggling again. “Your hands!” He shouted. “They’re so cold!”

“Oh no, are they?” Harry asked, feigning innocence, and reaching for Draco again.

Draco darted backwards, quickly jumping behind the couch to keep his distance from Harry. “Can’t we just have a mature, romantic,  _calm_ reunion for once?” Draco pleaded, but he couldn’t quite keep the giggles at bay as Harry chased him around the couch, occasionally changing direction to catch Draco off guard - not that Harry could of course. At least not without Draco’s permission.

And sure enough, when they both started to pant - they weren’t as young as they used to be - Draco slowed down and let Harry catch him, pulling him onto the couch, or perhaps collapsing and rolling onto the couch. Either way, Harry ended up lying on top of Draco, hands sneaking back up his sweater again.

Except Harry didn’t quite get the reaction he was hoping for. Not that he minded Draco pushing up into his touch - not at all! - but he did love hearing that adorable giggle.

“They’re not cold anymore,” Draco said, smugly.

Harry pulled his hands out, and pretended to start getting up. “Well, if I’m already warmed up, I guess there’s no point - “

Draco held onto Harry tightly, pulling him back down. “Maybe  _I’m_  cold.”

Harry laughed at Draco’s pouting face. “Is that why you’re wearing the sweater you told me you’d never be caught dead in? The one you suggested we use as a foot towel?”

For a second, it looked as if Draco might be planning an excuse - but what could he say? He’d been caught out for the sentimental sap he really was - beneath his sometimes cool exterior. And it’s not like Harry didn’t know - it was the reason he fell in love with him after all.

Instead, Draco stared back at Harry, accepting the challenge, and responded with a simple, “Yes. I was cold.”

“You’re going to get one every year now, you know?” Harry said - both teasingly and fondly - it was often that way with Draco. “You’re part of the family.”

“I’m not a Weasley,” Draco responded drily, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him - just like they had when Molly had gifted the sweater to him weeks ago. The barest hint of a smile that Harry knew very well. 

“No, of course not, “ Harry retorted. “You’re a Potter.” 

Draco rolled his eyes at that, but at the same time his lips grew wide into a fully fledged smile, a million times brighter than any fire. 

Harry felt himself imitating the smile on his own face. He settled his head down on Draco’s chest, wrapping his arms around his husband. How wonderful it felt to finally be warm again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/166670193516/giggles-sweaters-kissing)


	28. #cuddles #video games #candy

“Did you get them?” Draco asked, without looking up. He hadn’t torn his head from the screen all day. Not since Harry had introduced him to “viddy” games, as Draco was calling them.

“Of course I got them. You asked me to get them. That’s the whole reason I -“ Harry paused, deciding the effort was pointless. Draco only had eyes for the computer screen. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Feed them into my mouth,” was Draco’s casual but demanding reply.

Harry snorted and dropped onto his bed behind Draco. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

“ _Harry!”_ Draco whined in his petulant spoiled way - that Harry found both endearing and incredibly irritating. “This is a  _live_  game. How do you expect me to pause a  _live_  game to eat sweets?”

“Actually,” Harry said, laying back and staring up at the ceiling - it’s not like Draco was looking at him anyway. “I thought you might finally stop playing since you’ve been at it for 14 hours straight.”

“I took a break.”

Harry stopped himself from snorting again. “And you made me keep playing for you the whole time.”

“Remind me not to do that again,” Draco said, critically - he was never one for tact. “ _You_  almost had me killed.”

“It doesn’t really matter if you die. You can just resp - “

“And lose all my gold?” Draco half-shouted at Harry’s computer screen. “And items? And stamina points? Are you kidding me?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You’re taking this a bit too seriously.”

“My whole life. Being taught muggles were inferior. And all the while, they had this!  _Unbelievable_.”

Harry pulled himself up onto his elbows so he could look at Draco - although the back of his head wasn’t the greatest thing to have a conversation with. “Muggles can do a lot more than just create video- “

“Yeah yeah, I know,” Draco interrupted, sparing one hand from the keyboard to wave dismissively at Harry. “Sweets?”

Harry pulled out a package of treacle fudge from his pocket and watched Draco’s ears perk up at the sound. He let Draco wait a bit longer, opening the packet with a loud pop and dropping a piece into his mouth. Then: “No,” he half-enunciated through the mouthful of fudge.

“Harry,  _please_. I’m hungry.”

“I wonder why that is,” Harry said sarcastically.

“So you would let me  _starve?_  Is the boy saviour not so interested in saving people anymore?”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh a little at that. Draco’s dramatics could be frustrating but they were always entertaining. “Stop being ridiculous. When are you going to stop playing?”

“Never.”

“ _Draco_.”

“Five more minutes?” Draco asked, putting on his soft voice - the one that usually worked on Harry. The one that could get him whatever he wanted.

Problem was he’d used it already. “You said that hours ago.”

“I’m afraid I don’t recall,” Draco said, keeping his soft voice and sprinkling a bit of innocence on top.

Harry didn’t believe it for a second. “It’s late.”

Draco gave up on the voice. “I’m not tired.”

“I’ll let you be the little spoon,” Harry offered. Draco  _loved_  being the little spoon. So did Harry. But it was his best bargaining tool.

Sure enough, Draco’s head jerked around to face Harry, his eyes finally leaving the computer screen. Harry had his attention.

“But only if you stop now,” Harry clarified, pleased to have regained some power.

“Two minutes?” Draco asked, his head flicking between the screen and Harry’s, as he tried to keep playing.

“Now.”

“One minute?”

Harry shrugged, dropping back down to lie on the bed. “If you’re not interested…”

“I’m interested,” Draco said quickly. Harry heard the scraping of the desk chair and then Draco was falling into bed beside him, reaching for the treacle tart packet. He lifted it up and inspected the contents, disappointment clear on his face. “I thought you said you - “

“Here,” Harry said, pulling out another packet and handing over Draco’s favourite sweet - peppermint toads.

Draco’s face lit up instantly at the blue packet, grabbing hold and ripping it open immediately. The first toad in his mouth, soon to be followed by the rest of the packet clutched to his chest, Draco rolled over, his back to Harry.

“Well? “ He asked, expectedly, without giving Harry any time to react. “Are you going to spoon me or not?”

Harry laughed as he shuffled over to Draco and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend. How he,  _Harry Potter_ , had ended up with  _Draco Malfoy_ , he still didn’t quite understand. But he was happy.  _They_ were happy. And Harry wouldn’t change a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/166872243831/cuddles-video-games-candy)


	29. #ministry parties #healers #flangst

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Draco didn’t have to turn to know the whispered voice belonged to Potter. It was always Potter.

“Yes, what a surprise we’re both at an event our whole division was invited to,” Draco responded as drily as he could manage. He was not doing this again. Not tonight. Not here.

“Can I get you another drink?” Potter asked with an irritatingly charming smile as he eyed Draco’s half-finished glass of champagne.

Draco lifted the glass to his lips and downed the rest, ignoring the sting of the bubbles at his throat. He shoved the empty glass in Potter’s hands, careful not to make actual contact. “No.”

Potter’s smile dropped.  _Thankfully_  - it wasn’t helping Draco’s resolve. “Are you in a mood?”

Draco’s fists clenched stiffly at his side. If he were still holding the glass, he might have broken it. “Great detective work. Perhaps you should have become an Auror after all.

“You  _are_  in a mood.”

“ _Perhaps_ I just don’t need another drink,” Draco retorted in the snottiest voice he could manage. If he was in a  _mood_ , it was Potter’s fault anyway.

“Did something happen?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Things tend to constantly happen, Potter. It’s called the progression of time.”

“Did  _I_  do something?” Potter asked.  _Like he didn’t know._

Draco scanned the room as an excuse not to meet Potter’s eye. “Well, I certainly hope so. You were on duty this morning. If you were just standing around doing nothing, then I can only imagine the fate of your patients.”

Potter made a small sound like he wanted to laugh but was holding back. “You know what I mean.”

“Do I?” Draco asked, observing a trainee healer grinding up against a senior member of the Wizengamot with distaste.

“Why are you acting like this?”

Draco turned back to Potter and fixed him with what he hoped was a murderous glare. “If you really don’t know, Potter, then maybe  _that’s_  the problem.”

Leaving Potter gaping at him, the clueless asshole, Draco strode away searching desperately for a waiter. He really did need another champagne. He just didn’t want Potter to have the satisfaction of giving it to him.

* * *

Potter, clearly not getting the message, approached Draco again at the end of the night, where he stood by the bar. Draco might have had a  _few_ of glasses of champagne but he still had his head, even if it was a little fuzzy.

“There’s another party next week,” Potter said by way of opening. Draco was a little miffed at the lack of pleasantries. 

“I know.”

Potter smiled - a shy, half smile that made Draco want to forgive him. “Did you wanna go?”

Draco held back his excitement at the question, his rapidly increasing heartbeat the only tell. Potter would have to work harder for a more obvious sign. “It’s expected I attend, Potter. Of course I’m going.”

“No, I meant - do you want to go together?” Potter said, swaying on the spot ever so slightly. “I’ll pick you up in a car - or we can apparate together. Maybe we can have dinner beforehand? I can’t stand the fancy stuff they serve at these things. I end up drinking firewhisky on an empty stomach all night and getting a lot drunker than I should and saying things I don’t mean.”

“Like now, you mean?” Draco countered. He was only teasing really - Potter had softened him up with his drunk ramblings - but Potter must not have picked up his change in tone.

“No, no, Draco, not now. I mean it - I’d like to -“

“You only call me Draco when you’re drunk,” Draco pointed out, not adding how much he enjoyed it.

“I’ll admit I’m a little bit tipsy,” Harry said with an apologetic smile - just as delightful as the previous one. “I needed the courage to ask you out. But if we’re going to start dating instead of, you know, just having sex in empty operating rooms, I think I should be able to call you Draco all the time.”

 _Dating_. The word rang in Draco’s ears. He couldn’t help his lips from curling into a smile. “I don’t think that would be appropriate at work,” he said, maintaining some of his cool.

“Fine, Healer Malfoy,” Potter agreed with a wave of his hand (that seemed to put him off balance and start him swaying again). “So, is that a yes?”

Draco thought carefully. He didn’t want there to be any miscommunication about what Potter was suggesting. “You can pick me up at 6pm and we will apparate,  _not_  drive, to dinner. You can pick the restaurant but please make sure it is an establishment with real silverware and tablecloths. We will enter the party together, arms linked, to make our courtship known, and we will leave separately to avoid a scandal.”

Potter’s half smile split into one that covered his entire face, making him look a bit giddy. “But then we’ll meet up afterwards at yours and - “

“If you just want to have sex again, choose someone else,” Draco interrupted quickly, his recent uplift in mood taking a turn in the other direction. Sex with Potter was great but it wasn’t enough anymore. And if that’s all Potter wanted… “I’m sure there are plenty of people here who would jump at the opportunity.”

Potter’s face turned serious. “I don’t want anyone else.”

Draco felt instant relief as the tightness in his chest ceased.  _Potter didn’t want anyone else._  “Good. Then I’ll see you next week.”

He made his exit before Potter could convince him to have sex right then and there - which Draco wasn’t so certain he’d be able to refuse with the state of his head what it was and Potter…being Potter. But he couldn’t help but glance back as he walked away, just for a quick, innocent look.

Potter was leaning against the bar, alone, smiling to himself. Draco would have made fun if he hadn’t been doing exactly the same thing too. Well, he could hardly help himself. A date with Harry Potter -  _that_ was something to smile about. And maybe, just maybe, Potter thought the same about a date with Draco Malfoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/168107831576/ministry-parties-healers-flangst)


	30. #eighth year #cuddles #first time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this drabble is a sequel. [read #eighth year #angst #bed sharing first](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12116073/chapters/27565167)

Harry wasn’t sure what to do next. Malfoy’s arm held him firmly against the bed. He couldn’t see how he could extract himself without Malfoy waking up. And if Malfoy woke up and realised the position they were in…well, Harry suspected it wouldn’t end well for him.

He kept as still as he could manage – even keeping his breaths shallow to avoid too much movement of his chest – while he thought of possible escape options. If they weren’t at Hogwarts, he would have just apparated away, far far away, so he wouldn’t be around to witness Malfoy’s reaction. Here, the only choice was to slip out of Malfoy’s grasp slowly. But as soon as he started slinking away, Malfoy only gripped on  _tighter,_ holding his body even closer to Harry’s and –

Oh fuck.  _Fuck._  Malfoy had an erection. Harry could feel it against the side of his thigh. Harry tried to pull away again, this time more urgently. He felt as if he were invading Malfoy’s privacy in some way. Malfoy didn’t know all the thoughts Harry had about him. If he did, he would never have let Harry into bed with him in the first place.

Harry still couldn’t escape. Malfoy was strong. When had he gotten so…no, this was  _not_ the time, to consider how jacked Malfoy was. Pulled back into Malfoy’s body (and subsequently, his very, very  _there_ erection), Harry panicked and moved to his final option, the one he’d been hoping to avoid: waking Malfoy up.

“Malfoy,” he said loudly. “Malfoy, wake up.”

Malfoy’s eyes flickered open lazily. He stared at Harry vacantly for a moment, the hint of a smile on his lips, before recognition dawned in his eyes and he sprung out of bed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Malfoy asked, or rather  _accused_. He’d taken the bed covers with him and was holding them around himself, leaving Harry in a particularly vulnerable position.

Harry sat up quickly, crossing his legs over the semi hard-on he was sporting. It appeared erections were contagious. Malfoy’s eyes followed the action and Harry couldn’t be sure whether he’d noticed or not.

“Nothing,” Harry answered Malfoy. Which was basically the truth after all – Malfoy had been the one holding Harry down and pushing  _certain appendages_  up against him.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “That didn’t  _seem_  like nothing.”

“ _You_  were the one with your arm around me,” Harry bit back. He had known from the moment he’d woken up that Malfoy would try and turn the situation around on him.

Malfoy held the sheet tighter. “I did no such thing.”

“You wouldn’t let me go,” Harry explained, wondering why he bothered. He was certain Malfoy wouldn’t believe him. “That’s why I had to wake you up. You were…holding me down and cuddling me.”

Malfoy’s face changed, indignant accusation replaced with whatever the feeling was that made Malfoy blush like a fire engine. That was interesting.

“Sorry,” Malfoy said after a painful silence. “I – I must have thought you were someone else.”

Harry would have easily believed the excuse if Malfoy’s face were any other colour. Now, he wasn’t so certain. “You said my name,” he pointed out.

Malfoy’s eyes widened. He leant against the post of Harry’s bed with an attempt at casualness that was anything but. “Yes, well…” He paused, taking a sudden interest in Harry’s bed-hangings and then the floorboards of their shared room, before returning his eyes to Harry. “I have a thing for my pottery teacher.”

“You have a thing for your pottery teacher,” Harry repeated blankly, trying to process the absurd excuse. “When have you ever taken a pottery class?”

Malfoy sniffed and twirled Harry’s bed-hangings in one hand, (the other still holding Harry’s bed covers tightly to his chest). “I’ll have you know that I tried out several muggle activities during the Summer holidays, Potter. There’s no need to act so surprised.”

Harry couldn’t imagine Malfoy taking any muggle classes, let alone getting his hands dirty making pottery. But whether Malfoy was lying or not, it didn’t matter. Because: “You didn’t say Potter.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “You  _just_ said–“

“You said Harry,” Harry finished.

Malfoy visibly gulped. “My pottery teacher’s name is Harry?” he said weakly.

Harry couldn’t help the embarrassingly wide smile that claimed his face. “Let me get this straight. You have a thing for Harry the potter.”

“I thought you were supposed to be all noble and good, Potter, but if you’re going to tease me about this, then you’re clearly not as good as you–“

“Is that why you like me?” Harry interrupted, grinning up at Malfoy. “You think I’m noble?”

Malfoy looked past Harry to the far window. “I don’t like you. I like–“

“Harry the potter?”

Malfoy fixed Harry with a warning glare that would have been much more convincing had his cheeks not still been painted red. “ _Yes._ ”

Harry stared back, unblinking. He wanted to catch every tell in Malfoy’s face, wanted to find anything that would confirm what he could hardly hope to believe: Malfoy liked Harry as much as Harry liked Malfoy.

Malfoy’s face didn’t give Harry the sign he was looking for at first, although the red  _had_  spread to the tips of his ears. The real giveaway came when Malfoy simply gave up. “ _Fine_. It’s you. I like you,” he confessed, slumping under Harry’s gaze. “Now that you’ve humiliated me, can we please ignore each other for the rest of our existence?”

“But I– “

“No, Potter, don’t even try to make this better. Unless you’re going to willingly let me obliviate you, there’s nothing you can–“

“I like you too.”

That shut Malfoy up. He gaped at Harry for a moment before he seemed to realise what he was doing and snapped his jaw shut. “You…like…me,” he choked out.

“Obviously,” Harry supplied. If confessing his feelings wasn’t enough, the semi hard-on in his pants that Malfoy surely must have noticed by now was another dead giveaway.

“What do you mean, obviously?” Malfoy asked, straightening up. “It’s not obvious at all, Potter. If–“

“ _Harry,”_ Harry corrected. Malfoy ignored him.

“– _that’s_  how you conduct yourself, no wonder all of your fan club still think they’ve got a chance. You have to be  _clear_ with your signals. You can’t just–“

Harry stood up, slipping himself into the very small gap between Malfoy and the bed. Once he straightened up, Malfoy’s face was centimetres from his, close enough he could feel Malfoy’s warm breath as he stumbled over his words.

“–just–just–just–“ he was saying on repeat, his eyes fixed on Harry’s lips.

“Is this clear?” Harry asked. He closed his eyes, tilted his head forward and–

Harry’s eyes jerked open as he felt a cold pressure hit him square in the mouth. He could taste mint and cucumber and –  _was that orange_? It wasn’t an unpleasant taste but it was strong and unexpected and (this was the worse bit) it hadn’t come from Malfoy’s lips. In fact, Malfoy had taken half a step back and wore the same expression Harry imagined was on his own face. The sensation finally made sense: a breath freshening charm.

“Sorry,” Malfoy said. “You were going to kiss me and I realised we hadn’t brushed our teeth yet– wait, you  _were_ going to kiss me, weren’t you?” Malfoy dropped his gaze to the floor. “Oh fuck. It’s just you were so close–“

“Malfoy.”

“–the way you were looking at me–

“Malfoy.”

“–I didn’t mean to–“

“Draco!”

Malfoy–Draco finally stopped and looked up.

“I was going to kiss you,” Harry said. “I  _am_  going to kiss you.”

“Oh.” Draco’s lips twitched into a smile. “Hurry up, then.”

Harry rolled his eyes as he leant back in for take two. This time, Draco laid another charm on him, but it wasn’t so much magic as it was  _his mouth._ There was no warming into things or slow beginnings, it was all hunger and greed from the second their lips met. Harry was certainly grateful for the breath freshening charm since Draco seemed quite intent on exploring the full extent of Harry’s mouth. His impossibly long tongue had Harry already contemplating its other potential uses.

Harry’s hands found their way – completely of their own accord – to Draco’s hips, holding onto the bare flesh tightly for support. His legs were firmly backed up against the bed, and with his upper body pushed back with the force of Draco’s kiss – not that he was complaining – Harry could feel himself starting to fall. He dug his fingers further into Draco’s hips but the only good it did was bring Draco down with him.

Falling back onto a bed sideways mid-kiss was not as glamorous as movies had made it look. The sharp edge of the mattress dug into Harry’s back and Draco’s body hit him in the chest hard enough to wind him momentarily. Even worse, their lips had dislodged during the fall which Harry was not too happy about. He shuffled himself up the bed, righting the angle and bringing Draco with him. Harry kept shuffling until Draco’s body seemed to slip in place on top of him, his legs around Harry’s and – yes, there it was – his erection pressing against Harry’s own.

Draco’s mouth was back on Harry’s immediately, helped in part by Harry lifting his neck as far as it would allow, unable to wait for Draco to close the full distance. The kiss was just as hungry as their first, only this time, every time Draco pushed deeper into Harry’s mouth with his tongue, Harry could feel the pressure in the rest of his body as well, including a certain appendage that was no longer  _semi_ -hard.

Harry spared a brief thought for the breakfast they would certainly be missing this morning in the Great Hall before gliding his fingers down to the waistband of Draco’s pyjama pants. He let them sit there, brushing across Draco’s hipbones gently, waiting for permission to go further.

Draco broke the kiss and pulled his head back slightly to look at Harry. “I– I’m not– I mean–“ Draco’s earlier blush returned. “This is my, er, first time.”

“Oh, yeah, me too,” Harry admitted. He’d never gotten very far with Ginny; the impending war had basically cockblocked him.

“You too?” Draco questioned, his eyes darting back and forth between Harry’s. “Then why are you acting so…so cool about it?”

Harry shrugged. “I guess I just assumed we’d figure it out?”

Draco sat up which Harry could see logically was an indication to take a break from their…heavy petting…but it didn’t help physically that Draco was still straddling him and the new position put just that extra pressure on Harry’s cock.

“Right, I should have realised,” Draco said seriously, clearly not affected by the position in the same way Harry was. “Classic Harry Potter, barging recklessly into sex as he does all his endeavours.”

It took all Harry’s strength not to move, not to buck up into Draco and– “Is that  _bad_?” he asked, shaking the impulse from his head.

Draco frowned. “Of course it’s– look, we can’t just have sex. We have to talk about it first.”

Harry wanted to point out that perhaps talking about it would be easier if Draco wasn’t straddling him but he wasn’t so sure Draco would take it the right way. He tried adjusting his position with an inconspicuous shuffle but that only made the situation worse. He concentrated on keeping his face composed instead. “Alright. What do you want to talk about?”

“What it  _means_.”

“Um.” Harry wasn’t quite sure what Draco wanted to hear. “I like you and I want to have sex with you?” he suggested.

Draco snorted. “Eloquent, Potter.”

“ _Harry,”_ Harry corrected again. _“_ What do you want me to say?”

“Are we…dating now, then?” Draco asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Harry said automatically, but as soon as he did, he felt exposed so he coughed and added as nonchalantly as possible (so not very): “if you want.”

“Yes,” Draco said, taking a particular interest in the pillow behind Harry’s head, “I do.”

Relieved and happy,  _incredibly_  happy, Harry brought his hands back to Draco’s hips. “Okay, we’re dating. Now can we–“

“Wait,” Draco said. Harry dropped his hands. “We also need to work out how we’re going to do this.”

“What do you mean?”

“You  _know,”_ Draco said with wide eyes. “Who is going to…and who is going to…” Draco trailed off, his face flaming up once again.

“Oh.” Harry’s did the same as he caught on. ““Well, did you want to…” Harry faltered as he came across the same words Draco couldn’t quite vocalise. "I mean, what do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said, shrugging. “You?”

“I don’t know either,” Harry admitted. “Why don’t we forget it for now and just do what feels good?” he suggested.

“How–“

“Does this feel good?” Harry asked, starting a gentle hand at Draco’s neck and slowly trailing his fingers down Draco’s chest.

Draco swallowed. “Yes.”

Harry’s hand took a slight detour, gliding over Draco’s right nipple. “And this?”

“Yes,” Draco said, closing his eyes.

Harry let his hand drop further, pausing to play with the fine hairs beneath Draco’s navel. “And–“

“Just shut up and keep going, Potter.”

“ _Harry_.”

“Harry,” Draco agreed as Harry slipped his hand beneath the waistband of Draco’s pants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/169094365056/eighth-year-cuddles-first-time)


	31. #library #fluff #madam pince

Hermione and Ron weren’t in the library like they said they’d be. It wasn’t surprising, really. They were always sneaking off or running late these days. Harry stopped asking where they’d been after the fifth bout of giggles he’d received in response. He was happy for them of course, but it did leave him feeling a little bit lonely at times. Like now. He’d actually have to  _study_  (rather than play noughts and crosses in the margins of his Potions textbook with Ron).

Harry plonked his books down (ignoring Madam Pince’s ominous S _hhh_  from across the library) on an empty table squeezed between two shelves of books, happy for the privacy. The Hogwarts library was similar to the rest of the castle in the way that it had a mind of its own. The tables and bookshelves were constantly rearranging themselves and each day there would be a new configuration. This was Harry’s favourite so far. No one would even know his table was there unless they were specifically looking for it, or for a book on the spiritual properties of Flobberworm, which sat nestled on the shelves behind Harry’s head.

He opened up his Potions textbook and considered playing noughts and crosses with himself before sighing and flicking over to chapter seventeen to read up on the brewing process of Veritaserum. Apparently, it wasn't enough to make the potion, they had also been assigned to write an entire essay on the method before even attempting it in class. To make the whole thing even more unappealing, they weren’t even allowed to keep the potions once they were completed. Harry could do with some Veritaserum, he thought. He’d chug a whole flask, take a walk around Hogwarts and finally tell everyone what he really thought. “If only,” he whispered to himself.

“If only what?”

Startled, Harry looked up quickly and found Draco Malfoy peering around a bookshelf at him. He frowned. This was the first time he had heard Malfoy talk all year. They'd been avoiding each other mostly, looking away when they caught the other staring (which, admittedly, was often) and keeping a wide distance as they passed in the corridors.

* * *

 

Draco looked at him expectantly, remaining half behind the bookshelf as if afraid to come out any further. Harry realised Draco was still waiting for an answer. “Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “It was stupid.”

“As stupid as this?” Draco asked. His hand went to the cuff of his sleeve but then he pulled back and just pointed at his left forearm instead. Harry understood all the same, although he couldn’t quite get Draco’s tone. Was he joking?

“No,” Harry said slowly, “I guess not.”

“Then I’m in no position to judge you,” Draco said, his face impassive. It was impossible to understand the tone of the conversation they were having with Draco doing that. Harry was used to identifying Draco’s various scowls and glares but this was devoid of any tell.

_What the hell_ , Harry decided. “I was just thinking that it might be nice to be dosed up on Veritaserum so I’d be forced to tell everyone the truth all the time.”

Draco took a step out from the bookshelf and the faintest smile flickered across his face. “Is Harry Potter a liar?” He asked.

Harry couldn’t tell if it was a genuine question or a jibe. He wished Draco would give him some clue. “It’s not that I’m lying,” he answered carefully. “It’s just that I’m not always telling the full truth.”

Draco stared at Harry for a moment – far too long a moment, Harry was starting to sweat – and then pulled out the chair across the table and sat down. He propped his chin on his hands. “What’s the full truth?”

Harry was a little taken back by the directness, and still not sure of Draco’s intentions. He couldn’t think of an answer. “I don’t know.”

Draco smiled properly then. It was teasing, but not in a cruel way. It was the kind of way that made Harry feel like he was in on the joke. “You want everyone to know that you  _don’t know_.”

Harry laughed, surprised that the sound had been elicited by Draco of all people. His once sworn enemy. “If I had Veritaserum, I wouldn’t have to know what I wanted to say, it would just come out.”

“I don’t think it works like that. You still have to  _know,”_ Draco said, tilting his head thoughtfully and blinking through eyelashes Harry only just realised were strikingly long. “I know what I’d say to you.”

“What?”

“A lot of things. Many that I definitely won’t be saying without Veritaserum.” Draco dropped his hands and let his eyes fall to the table. There was a slight blush on the edges of his cheekbones that made Harry curious. “There is one thing, though, that I’ve been meaning to…” He trailed off and looked back up at Harry seriously. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For the big things. For the little things. For everything I’ve done that’s made your life harder. For every hex and for every line of ink in this stupid mark on my arm. I’m sorry.”

Harry blinked back at Draco in surprise. It was not what he’d been expecting. Not after months of silence. And now Draco was looking at him, waiting for a response, and Harry didn’t know what to say.

Draco dropped his gaze back down to the table and– “I like your eyelashes,” Harry blurted out. Loudly.

Draco’s head snapped back up. He and Harry both flinched when a heavy  _Shhh,_ courtesy of Madam Pince, floated their way.

“Excuse me?” Draco whispered, staring at Harry strangely.

Fuck. “They’re long,” Harry said because it was the only explanation he could think of. Inside, he was screaming at himself for opening his mouth at all. He felt his face heating up. Why had he said that?

Draco laughed (and another  _Shhh_  came their way). It was light and high-pitched (the laugh, not the shhh), and nothing like Harry expected Draco’s genuine laugh to sound like. He had never heard it before. 

“I don’t think you’re cut out for Veritaserum,” Draco said.

“Why?”

Draco smirked but there was no cruelty in it. “If you blush like that just from telling me you like my eyelashes, then you probably won’t be able to handle the things a truth serum makes you say.”

The way Draco said it, it was like he _knew._ Instead of asking the obvious, as Harry could only imagine the horrible circumstances in which Draco would have been fed the potion, he asked: “What kind of things?”

Draco hummed for a moment – a pretty sound Harry also hadn’t heard before – and then said: “All kinds of things. Simple things, like eyelashes, but other things too. Fears and anxieties you’re used to keeping hidden. Debased things you usually only think of in the dark. Desires you convince yourself you don’t feel but you know you do.” He shrugged as if to take away from the seriousness of what he was saying. “If the Veritaserum allows you say it aloud, then it’s something you already know.”

Harry felt himself unconsciously leaning into Draco over the table. He stopped himself before he went too far. Draco’s words made him curious. “Debased things?” He repeated. “Like what?”

Draco didn’t say anything for a moment. He looked to be thinking carefully. And then: “I like your hair.”

Automatically, Harry lifted a hand to his head and pushed back his hair at the mention. Draco’s eyes followed the action. “How is that–“

“I won’t answer that,” Draco interrupted. His lips quirked upwards. “At least, not without Veritaserum.”

Harry tried to imagine the implications himself but thought better of it when a number of images appeared in his head too inappropriate to entertain in a library. He shuffled in his seat. “I like your cheekbones,” he said.

Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise but replied quickly. “I like the green in your eyes.”

“I like the sound of your laugh,” Harry shot back.

“I like the way you fly.”

“I like your hands.”

“ _Shhhhh_ ,” whispered Madam Pince’s voice from a distance.

“My hands?” Draco repeated, lowering his voice. They both looked down at them.

“They’re elegant looking,” Harry explained lamely. Draco’s fingers were long and delicate and his hands looked like they’d be soft to hold, albeit a touch boney. Not that Harry was thinking of holding Draco’s hands. He’d just happened to notice is all.

When Harry looked up, Draco was already starting back at him, although Harry could have sworn Draco was looking at his lips in particular. He stuck his tongue out and swiped it across his bottom lip, and Draco’s eyes darted right back down. Harry could feel his face heating up again. If he really was dosed with Veritaserum, he’d tell Draco–

“I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

The words were Harry’s but they fell from Draco’s mouth.

“Me too,” Harry said quickly.

Draco smiled, warm and soft at every edge, and he leaned across the table, taking Harry’s face in his hands. Harry was right – they  _were_ soft. Harry leant forward himself – he couldn’t let Draco do  _all_ the work – and pulled his hands up onto the table to lift himself up a little. In the process, he accidentally knocked his Potions textbook to the floor with a loud ka-plunk, but he wasn’t particularly concerned; his only thoughts were of Draco and how those lips would feel against his. Would there be sparks? Electricity? Heat? He was feeling all those things in his body just from the anticipation alone so he knew it had to be something more.

He closed his eyes as their lips grew closer and braced himself for the impending magic. And sure enough, when his lips met Draco’s, it was an instant flash of magical energy. He’d never felt so charged in his life. But it only lasted a second. Because as soon as their lips met, they were ripped apart.

Harry fell backwards with the force and toppled backwards over his chair. He looked up to find Madam Pince standing above him, wand raised. “This is a  _library_ ,” she whispered, a look of horror on her face. “A place of  _study_. It is  _not_  your bedroom.”

Harry nodded quickly, scrambling to his feet. He could see Draco doing the same on the other side of the table.

“Get out of my library.  _Now_ ,” Madam Pince said venomously. “And pick up that book!” she ordered, eyeing Harry’s Potions textbook on the floor.

Harry hastily grabbed it, shoved it into his bag and after a quick side-eye to Draco to make sure he was doing the same, made a run for it. Harry was surprised, but not unhappy when Draco slid his hand in his and they ran together, Draco’s laughter in his ear.

“ _And_  no _running in the library_!” Madam Pince yelled out after them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/169420512476/library-fluff-madam-pince-kicking-them-out)


	32. #kissing #people watching #tears

Harry had stopped breathing. His heart felt like it was beating somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach and there was a numbness spreading across his skin. He couldn’t feel it anymore but he suspected his face was a deep red.  

The letter, the one Harry had poured too large a fragment of his heart into, the one holding Harry’s last breath, the one he already wanted back, floated across the Great Hall. It made its way too slowly and too fast. In seconds it would reach the Slytherin table and its intended reader. A reader who had plagued Harry’s thoughts for far too many months. A reader whose laughter rang in Harry’s ears. Whose smile sent Harry’s heart into overdrive. A reader whose hands plucked the letter where it floated above them and looked around the Great Hall, searching…

Harry dropped his head immediately, not wishing to be caught staring. Draco would discover who the letter was from soon enough anyway. Harry had been stupid and brave enough to sign it…thirty seconds ago when it still seemed like a good idea. Now, it just seemed rather foolhardy.

Harry looked back up – he had to know Draco’s reaction, good or bad. Draco’s eyes were trained on the letter, his head downcast, so Harry couldn’t tell if he was about to be cursed at or…well, he shouldn’t get his hopes up. Draco’s head stayed down for far too long. The letter wasn’t particularly lengthy and Harry knew Draco to be a fast reader – he’d picked up a lot of things about Draco over the years apparently.

When Draco finally looked up, his reaction wasn’t anything like Harry expected. There was no anger, nor elation, but confusion. And when Draco’s eyes searched the Gryffindor table and locked onto Harry’s, there were tears brimming at the edges of his eyes.

Harry couldn’t understand it. He directed a gentle half-smile at Draco, trying to quell the inexplicable tears. Draco stood up, still clutching the letter in one hand and ran from the Great Hall. Heads turned as he did; students whispered to each other, rumours already beginning. With his heart still throbbing low in his chest, Harry followed.

Draco hadn’t gotten far. He stood, leant up against a pillar in the Entrance Hall, crying openly, his face screwed up, hands balled into fists (and the remnants of Harry’s letter peaking out from one of them).

As Harry approached, Draco’s eyes darted up and he sobbed a little harder. “Who told you?” he whispered.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Who told you?” Draco asked again, a little louder, his voice raspy.

“Told me what?”

“Who told you?” Draco all but yelled, glaring at Harry with wild, red eyes. “Who told you? Who told you?”

“Malfoy,” Harry said quietly, aware that their voices were likely carrying into the Great Hall. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Draco rubbed at his eyes and took in a shuddering breath. He uncurled his fists and gestured with the scrunched up letter. “Is this funny to you?” He asked.

Harry’s eyes fell to the letter, remembering its content. None of it could explain Malfoy’s reaction. “No?”

Draco unfurled the letter and ran his eyes over it again, fresh tears appearing in his eyes. “I knew you hated me,” he said, flashing his wet eyes back at Harry. “I get it. I’d hate me too. But this.” His eyes returned to the letter. “This is cruel. I didn’t know you were cruel.”

“I’m not– I don’t hate you,” Harry quickly corrected. He didn’t see how Draco had come to such an absurd, and completely contrary, conclusion from his letter. “Didn’t you read it?”

“Yes, I read it,” Draco bit back, some venom leaking into his tone.

“So,” Harry started, dropping to a whisper when he sensed company behind him, “you don’t feel the same?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know exactly how I feel about you, Potter,” Draco spat, his voice as loud as ever. He either didn’t care or hadn’t noticed the students milling from the Great Hall to watch the showdown.

“But I d– “

“I know how obvious it is, okay?” Draco said, his voice softening again. “I know it’s pathetic and stupid and even selfish to think we could ever…” Draco paused, rubbing at his eyes again. “I  _know._  But why couldn’t you just let me have this? Just one silly desperate hope to cling onto. That’s all I–“

Draco’s words cut off in favour of a deep sob that launched itself from his throat. A new round of tears streamed down his face. He dropped his head, rubbing at his face furiously.

Harry finally understood. He took a few careful steps forward until he stood directly in front of Draco. “Malfoy, I think you’ve misunderstood. What I wrote–“

“–was a joke,” Draco finished, staring at Harry’s shoes. “I know. Now just leave me alone.”

“It wasn’t a joke,” Harry corrected. He lifted a hand to Draco’s chin and slowly tilted it up so their eyes met. “Malfoy, I– I really do like you,” he whispered.

Draco pushed against Harry’s grip, turning his head away, and Harry let his hand drop. “Stop lying,” Draco choked back. “ _Please_. You’ve had your fun.”

“No, you really don’t get it. I’m not lying. I’m not joking,” Harry said gently, hoping Draco might hear the sincerity in his voice.

Draco turned back to Harry. “You’re not?” He asked, a familiar hope shining in his wide eyes.

Harry shook his head with a soft smile and brought his hands up to cup Draco’s face wiping away the remaining tears. “I like you,” he repeated quietly so only Draco could hear. “I meant every word I wrote.”

The elation Harry had dared to hope for earlier finally showed on Draco’s face in the form of one of his breath-taking smiles. Harry felt his heart return to its proper place between his lungs, albeit still thumping erratically.

Harry was barely conscious of their audience as he leant forward and pressed his lips to Draco’s in a gentle, tender way he hoped conveyed his feelings clearly (considering his letter had managed to do the opposite). Draco’s lips were wet with tears but they stretched into a wider smile beneath Harry’s as Draco returned the kiss. Harry’s heart calmed. He felt his breathing return to normal. There was something very right about kissing (and being kissed by) Draco Malfoy.

So relaxed was Harry, and so deeply invested in his kiss with Draco, he didn’t notice the letter,  _his_ letter, fall from Draco’s fingers. But their audience of students did. And soon enough the letter would make its way across the entirety of Hogwarts. But what did Harry care? Draco knew how he felt now. There was no need to hide his feelings any longer.

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/169637724106/kissing-people-watching-tears)


	33. #college au #dormmates #pining

Draco took one last breath and crossed his fingers before opening the door, hoping for a clean, quiet, mathematics major. The cramped room was evenly divided into two halves with a bed, desk and computer chair on each side. One side, his, was bare. The other was, well, anything but. Posters of football players lined almost every inch of the wall, overlapping each other at the corners in an effort to all fit across the small canvas. The bed had been covered in a black and white duvet cover patterned like a football (no, really), and draped over the computer chair as if carelessly thrown, was a red, long-sleeved sports jersey bearing the name, “Potter.”

His dormmate was a jock. Great.

Draco started to pull his bags into the room, turning his back on Potter’s side. Not only was his dormmate a jock, he was clearly an obsessive all-or-nothing kind of jock too. Probably one of those types who couldn’t hold a conversation about anything other than sport and who spent all their time drinking excessive amounts of water and going on long tedious jogs. Urgh. In fact, that’s probably where he was now. Jogging around the college grounds. Just the thought made Draco’s muscles weak. He was already having enough trouble hurling his eighteen bags –  Italian black leather monogrammed with  _D. Malfoy –_  from the hallway (where his chauffeur had left them) to his dorm.

As he struggled to lift his seventh bag, heavy with books his mother had insisted he leave at home, a voice called out behind him.

“Are you alright with that?”

“Yes, fine, thank you” Draco responded automatically, not turning around. He wasn’t here to make friends, and his pride dictated that he didn’t require anybody’s help.

“Are these  _all_ your bags?” asked the voice, directly behind him now.

“Yes,” Draco said, giving up on lifting the bag and dragging it across the floor into his dormroom. “I’m particular.”

When he turned around, he saw that, despite his rejection of help, the voice – a man of the same age with offensive calves and terrible hair – had followed him into the dormmroom lugging four bags at once.

“I said I was fine.”

The man shrugged. “I wanted to help.”

“Alright,” Draco said, dropping onto his empty bed, laying back and placing his hands behind his head, “help, then.”

The other student stared at him for a moment, laughed, and then continued bringing the bags in. Draco was being childish of course, but he couldn’t stand overly helpful types, especially ones who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

When _overly-helpful_  finishing bringing in all of Draco’s luggage, he didn’t leave. Instead, he had the nerve to sit down on the bed across from Draco. Potter’s bed. “You have way too many clothes,” he commented unnecessarily.

“I wouldn’t sit there if I were you,” Draco snapped.

“What? Why?”

“My roommate, Potter, he’ll be back any moment. He’s a big, buff, scary guy.” (It could’ve been true.) “I think he’s on the football team. I wouldn’t want to cross him.”

The man laughed, showing off a wide smile and too-perfect teeth.

“What are you laughing for?”

“I didn’t think I was  _that_  scary looking.” The man raised his arms and flexed in mock imitation of a bodybuilder. “I’ll take buff though.”

“What?” Draco stared at the twitch in the man’s biceps which were decidedly not  _that_  impressive. And then it hit. “Oh. You’re the jock.”

“I see you’ve already made a judgement.”

Draco sat up, a familiar anxiety settling in his stomach. He’d been at college less than half an hour and, of course, he’d already made an enemy of his dormmate. “Well,” he said defensively, “what was I supposed to make out of  _that_?” He gestured to the poster-covered wall which was objectively ridiculous.

The student – Potter – laughed again. “It’s a bit much, isn’t it? Sorry– I’ve just never been allowed to put anything on the walls back in fost– back at home, so I may have gotten a little…er…enthusiastic.”

Draco ignored Potter’s slip-up. He understood what it was like to carry secrets. And he was relieved Potter didn’t seem to think too poorly of him despite his behaviour. “I actually don’t think it’s allowed here, either,” he pointed out.

Potter tilted his head and looked at Draco with eyes too green to be allowed. “You’re not going to tell on me, are you, Malfoy?”

“No,” Draco said, realising quite suddenly that he would not be doing anything to hurt this man. “I’m not.”

 

* * *

 

 

Potter wasn’t the worst dormmate in the world. He wasn’t around much, so the dorm was quiet, and when he was, he usually left Draco alone, which Draco would have appreciated. Except, of course, he’d gone and developed a pathetic little crush on Potter so he relished any attention he could get.

Potter had invited Draco out with his friends a couple of times in the first week but Draco – stupid and closed off as he was – had kept declining, convinced Potter was only being polite. He only regretted saying no once Potter stopped asking.

Now Potter only ever spoke to him if he wanted something. Like the time he needed to borrow Draco’s laptop to submit an assignment when his started freezing right before the midnight deadline – Draco deleted his history quickly before sharing. Or the time he asked for Draco’s Netflix password – Draco shut that down quite quickly, lest his obsession with romcoms become public knowledge. Or the time he wanted Draco’s advice on what to wear to a party across the hall  – if Draco couldn’t decide and Potter kept switching between shirts in front of him, then that was neither here nor there. 

One Friday night when Potter was out with his friends and Draco was left behind with the looming deadline of a Chemistry essay, Draco had a minor lapse in judgement  – he blamed the stress of college – and tried on Potter’s sports jersey. It had just been sitting there, on Potter’s computer chair, staring Draco right in the face. What was he supposed to do?

Well, probably not walk over to it and put it on. But whatever. He only meant to try it on to see how it felt. But it was so warm and so…so Potter-ish that he never wanted to take it off. So he didn’t. He sat back down on his bed with his laptop and tried to concentrate on his essay, now with the comfortable warmth and smell of Potter around him.

He was just debating internally whether it was morally appropriate to postpone the essay in favour of making a much different use of Potter’s jersey when the door swung open. Draco snapped his laptop shut.

It was Potter, home early, his face flushed and eyes ever so slightly out of focus behind his glasses. They landed on Draco with instant recognition.

“Is that my jers–”

“No,” Draco lied quickly and immediately regretted it. Denial was his go-to strategy for many things but in order for it to work in this instance, he’d have to convince Potter to believe his word over his own eyes, and Draco wasn’t that good of a liar.

Potter straightened his glasses, peering at Draco with new concentration. “That’s my jersey,” he repeated.

“No, it’s not,” Draco lied again. He knew now he could not escape impending humiliation, only delay it. His entire body tensed uncomfortably in anticipation.

Potter took a step closer, a lazy – gorgeous – smirk pulling at his face. “It literally has my name on it.”

Draco looked down at his chest. He’d forgotten it said Potter in smaller print on the front too. He scrambled frantically for his next defence. “I was cold?” he tried.

Potter looked pointedly at the pile of sweaters on the floor by Draco’s bed.

“I didn’t know it was your jersey when I put it on  _obviously,_ ” Draco said, hating himself for the way his scathing tone took over. “Don’t leave your stuff on my side of the room next time.”

“I don’t mind, you know,” Potter said, sitting on the edge of Draco’s bed. He had never done that before. “I mean, It looks good on you.”

Draco felt every skin cell in his face light up. He dropped his head and stared down at his sheets. “Why are you back so early?”

"Didn’t expect to be caught, huh?”

Draco slumped down in bed slightly. If he sunk far enough, he could disappear beneath the sheets, and perhaps then, Potter would drop the subject.

“My friends kind of paired off and I felt a bit awkward so I left,” Potter said. “Plus the game tomorrow. I probably shouldn’t have drunk at– ”

“You’re not seeing anyone?” Draco’s mouth asked, betraying him. “No – er – girlfriend?”

Potter laughed loudly, his mouth too close to Draco’s ear. “No, of course not.” Potter leaned in closer and Draco made the mistake of looking up. “Malfoy,” Potter said, in an unnecessary whisper, “why are you wearing my jersey?”

Draco panicked. Denial hadn’t worked. Neither had any of his excuses. And now Potter was directly asking him a question he could not answer. So he yanked the jersey up, cringing when it caught around his head and he had to squirm it the rest of the way off. He tossed it behind Potter and then answered the question honestly. “I’m not wearing it.”

Of course, in the silence that followed his action, Draco realised that stripping probably wasn’t the best way to avoid awkwardness with Potter. He decided to stick with his earlier plan of disappearing under the sheets.

Miraculously, Potter stood up and walked away before Draco had to cover his head. Draco breathed again. That is until Potter bent down and fetched the jersey from the floor. He turned around.

“Are you coming to the match tomorrow?”

It was a casual question. Perhaps the threat really had passed.

“Yeah,” Draco said with a shrug as if hadn’t been to every match of the year so far. Well, except the one time Potter had been off sick. He really didn’t see the entertainment in watching anyone else kick a ball around.

Potter threw the jersey at Draco. “You should wear it.”

Draco looked down where the jersey had landed in his lap, Potter’s name in big capital letters. Only the football players’ partners wore their jerseys. Everyone knew that. They all sat together right behind the players' bench, leaning over the rails to steals kisses at halftime. If Draco turned up to a college game wearing Potter’s jersey, no one would ever believe they were just dormmates. Potter knew that.

“Are you asking me– ”

“Yes,” Potter said. He stood tall, his voice confident but Draco finally noticed the light blush on the edges of his face. “What do you think?”

Draco pulled the jersey back on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/174293501331/college-au-dormmates-pining)


	34. #scars #kisses #flowers

“No, don’t– ”

Harry’s hands fell away from the hem of Draco’s long-sleeved shirt immediately. There was no disappointment or question in his face, only a flicker of concern that he quickly covered. Harry knew how much Draco detested pity.

Harry was gentle and patient and more likely to start speaking in fluent French than to ever push Draco’s boundaries. The pressure to explain came from Draco’s mind alone.

“I don’t want you to see them.”

“Okay,” Harry said simply, and Draco knew he meant it. That Harry would not push the subject ever again out of respect for Draco’s wishes.

An image of the two of them fucking sprang to Draco’s mind (or making love as Harry called it), with Harry fully nude and confident, and Draco still with his tight black shirt on, the shirt he was never seen without. He knew Harry would never make fun of him for it, would never even consider it to be strange. But the image didn’t sit right with Draco. When they finally got around to fucking or making love or whatever, he wanted to be the confident one like Harry, to have the freedom to lose himself completely in the moment.

Draco reached for the hem of his shirt.

Harry’s hands stopped him. “You don’t have– ”

“I want to.”

Draco started peeling the shirt up slowly, and then – realising he couldn’t bear to prolong it any further – he yanked it the rest of the way off, dropping his head to the floor. He didn’t want to see Harry’s reaction.

Harry’s hands rose up and hovered over the scars crisscrossing Draco’s stomach. “Can I?” He asked. His voice was soft, with a gentleness that calmed Draco’s erratic heart. He nodded and lifted his head to watch Harry.

Draco felt the soothing tickle of Harry’s fingers skimming with impossible lightness over his stomach. Harry’s face was tightly knit in concentration, treating Draco with the absolute care. Staring at Harry, Draco felt such affection for his boyfriend. He’d never thought he’d find such beauty in the tragic mess the war had left him with. But here Harry was.

“Draco?” Harry called out, eyes widening as he continued to stare at Draco’s chest.

“Yes?” Draco felt his earlier panic re-emerging. Something was wrong.

“You have to see this,” Harry said. “Look down. Look at your chest.”

Draco did, expecting to see the ugly red welts he’d successfully avoided looking at for the last year.  He never expected to find–  

“Are you doing that?” Draco asked, looking back up at Harry for an answer.

“No, I’m not,” Harry said shaking his head, lips widening into a slow smile as he worked something out. “I think– I think it’s you.”

Draco looked back down at his chest. Small violet flowers grew out from the scars on his stomach, like bright muggle tattoos. Except they were moving, still growing, and expanding upwards, with tall intertwined green stems and vivid leaves.

Harry’s hands traced their path up Draco’s chest, along each scar, as if he were magically creating them.

“But, it’s you,” Draco said as he watched. “You’re doing it.”

Harry dropped his hands and the flowers stopped growing.

“See?” Draco said, looking back up. It was Harry, of course it was Harry.

Harry didn’t answer. His eyes had moved from Draco’s chest to his arm. Draco felt the mark –  _his_  Dark Mark – flinch under Harry’s gaze.

“Can I?” Harry asked again.

Draco nodded, holding out his arm.

Harry ran a tentative hand over the mark, and Draco was surprised when it didn’t burn. It always burned. But Harry didn’t seem content with that small miracle. His face knit together in concentration again and he bowed his head down to the Dark Mark.

Draco felt warm breath first and then Harry’s lips, as gentle as their owner, leaving a trail of light tingling kisses across every drop of ink. The sensation sent goosebumps above Draco’s skin and a warmth beneath it.

When Harry lifted his head, Draco saw the same purple flowers growing from the Dark Mark, expanding so much they almost covered it completely, choking out the dark energy and replacing it with light. Unbidden tears welled up in Draco’s eyes.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Harry shook his head again. "It’s not me,” he insisted. “It’s us. Don’t you get it? What’s the most powerful magic? The one thing Voldemort could never fight against?”

Draco stared back at Harry’s soft eyes in confusion. He hadn’t cast any spells. What magic could Harry mean?

Harry pulled Draco’s hands into his own, intertwining their fingers. More warmth spread through Draco’s body. That’s when the answer dawned on him.  

“Love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/174498202296/scars-kisses-flowers-prompts)


	35. #angst #hurt/comfort #injured!Draco

“SECTUMSEMPRA!”

Harry’s voice filled the bathroom, shamefully loud. He sounded confident – that only made it worse.

Just as he had all those years ago, Malfoy opened up from his face to his chest, as if slashed with an invisible force. And there was blood. More blood than Harry remembered. It was already pooling around Malfoy’s body as he slumped to the floor.

“No– ” gasped Harry. He ran forward and fell to his knees beside Malfoy. “No– I didn’t– Malfoy, Malfoy.  _Finite Incantatem_ ,” he tried desperately, even though he had dropped his wand behind him at the first sight of blood. “ _Finite Incantatem. Finite Incantatem. Finite Incantatem_.”

Harry watched his younger self from the memory grow more and more frantic when the spell didn’t work and blood continued to pour from Malfoy’s wounds. There were tears in Harry’s eyes – both watching and living the memory. He hadn’t expected how much seeing this memory would still affect him. He turned to the older Malfoy, who stood beside him, watching the scene with an unnatural stiffness.

“Is that why you wanted to show me this?” Draco asked. “Did you think I didn’t know you wanted to take it back?” He laughed and it sounded choked. “Potter, you saved my life. You saved the entire wizarding world. You’re the hero. I know.”

Harry shook his head. “No, you don’t know. That not why. Not with you.”

The door banged open and Snape walked into the memory, pushing the younger Harry aside.

“Don't tell me my mother made an unbreakable vow for my safety with you too? Do you know how many Death Eaters wanted to kill me but couldn’t because she– ”

“That’s not it,” Harry interrupted. “I never wanted to hurt anyone, or kill anyone. But you.  _You._  I could never,  _never–_ ”

Draco looked at Harry sharply, finally tearing his eyes from the scene. “What do you mean?”

“Even if you had really killed Dumbledore, I don’t think I could have– you were a Death Eater! You wanted me dead. And I still– I still…” Harry trailed off, his mouth closing over the words he promised himself he’d be brave enough to say.

“Still what?” Draco asked. “And I never wanted you dead, Potter. Don’t be dramatic.”

“I still– ” Harry took a deep breath– “loved you.”

Surprise flashed in Draco’s eyes before he turned his head away from Harry, back to the memory playing out in front of them. Snape’s counter curses were starting to work, the wounds across Malfoy’s chest slowly closing up.

“I told you to stop being dramatic,” Draco said coolly. “How could you love me  _then_? I was cruel and naive and I did terrible things. Helped terrible people.”

“You were hurting.”

Draco laughed. “That doesn’t make it better. You didn’t love me. You couldn’t have. You wanted to save me. That’s what you do, isn’t it? That’s what you’re best at.”

There was a strange coldness to Draco’s words that Harry couldn’t understand. He’d thought by showing Draco this memory, of his shame and regret, that Draco would see what he’d be hiding all these years. Not deny it.

“Maybe,” Harry agreed reluctantly. “I don’t know. Look, Draco, all I can tell you is how I feel now.”

“Don’t call me that,” Draco snapped.

“Why not?”

“You don’t  _know_  me. You can’t just say my name like that after everything that’s happened.”

“But that’s just it – it  _happened._  The war. This.” Harry gestured to the scene in front of them. Snape had closed up Malfoy’s wounds and pulled him to his feet, where the blood had been wiped away revealed sickly pale skin. “They’re all memories now. In the past.”

“This doesn’t feel like the past,” Draco said as his eyes followed his younger self leave the memory, supported by Snape.

“I’m sorry, Draco.”

“Me too,” Draco whispered back.

They both watched the younger Harry, alone in the bathroom. He still sat on his knees where he been pushed aside by Snape, frozen, even as water and blood swirled around him. His tears had been replaced with an empty expression, a numbness Harry would never forget.

“Get me out.”

Harry wrenched his eyes from his younger self.

“Get me out,” Draco repeated.

Harry ended the memory and he and Draco both fell from his Pensieve. The room – Harry’s office – had grown darker since they’d entered the memory. Harry turned to the fireplace and cast it ablaze, feeling a chill creeping up over his skin.

“You never told me how you feel now,” Draco said from behind him. There was a forced flippant quality to his voice that gave him away.

“I thought that was obvious,” Harry murmured to the fire.

“Humour me,” Draco whispered. His voice was at Harry’s ear.

“I love you.”

“How?” Draco asked and Harry understood the meaning behind the question:  _I don’t believe you._

Harry reached out behind him and found Draco’s hand. He held it tightly and squeezed. “Let me show you.”

“Okay,” Draco said, and he squeezed back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/174786146436/angst-hurtcomfort-injureddraco)


	36. #hairdye #blushing #cupcakes

It was Hermione’s idea. She had a way of making even the most ridiculous plans seem totally achievable. Until it was too late. And that was how Harry found himself in the kitchen with the Hogwarts house-elves baking cupcakes for Draco Malfoy.

“Bloody hell,” Ron said, poking his head into the kitchen. “How many cupcakes are you making?”

Harry’s eyes flickered between the batches of cupcakes baking in six different ovens while he mixed the next round of batter in a heavy glass bowl. “Three hundred and sixteen.”

“Three hundred and–  _Harry_. That’s ridiculous. At least use magic.”

“That would defeat the purpose.”

Ron leaned over the counter and took a swipe of batter from a bowl sitting in the sink. “I thought the purpose was good sportsmanship.”

“The purpose is to outdo Malfoy.”

“I don’t think that’s what Hermione had in– ”

“I know what Hermione had in mind,” Harry interrupted, pouring his batter into the last cupcake tin he could find. He’d have to do some cleaning before he made another batch. “And it’s not going to work. Malfoy might not be a Death Eater anymore but he’s still a Slytherin. He’s still competition.”

“Whatever you say, mate.”

Ron snagged one of the cupcakes cooling on a rack by the door (ignoring Harry’s yell of protest) and snuck out. Harry scanned the kitchen – he had 143 cupcakes cooling and another 72 cooking. There was still plenty of work to do before the Slytherin vs. Gryffindor Quidditch game in three hours.

 

* * *

 

The eighth years weren’t permitted to form part of the house Quidditch teams so they’d made their own. Headmistress McGonagall had permitted the new division under the condition that the games were played with impeccable sportsmanship. And so an unspoken challenge had arisen of which house could display the greatest sportsmanship. Before every game, the captain of each competing team presented the opposing captain with a gift or gesture to show their appreciation of the other’s house.

Harry had iced and decorated all 316 cupcakes with the Slytherin crest – one for each of the Slytherin team in addition to the crowd in attendance. On a whim, he’d made a custom cupcake for Malfoy to really show him up, but he was starting to regret that decision. He’d already levitated the cupcakes out to the crowds and now he hovered high above the pitch, holding tightly onto the remaining cupcake in one hand, waiting.

There was no way Malfoy could outdo him. Not unless he’d made 316 croquembouches. And Harry didn’t take Malfoy for a baker. Still, he was nervous that Malfoy wasn’t on the pitch yet. The rest of the Slytherin team (including one Ravenclaw beater since Slytherin house were short on numbers) were on their brooms flying around, waving at the crowd, with carefree smiles. Just what was Malfoy planning?

A chorus of gasps echoed across the stadium and Harry swivelled around, searching for the source, searching for Malfoy. Down on the grass, a man with bright red hair had walked out from the Slytherin change rooms in full uniform. He held a broom but he made no move to mount it.

Harry flew into a dive, approaching the ground. Had Malfoy sent someone in his place to play the match? How could that be called a gesture of good sportsmanship? If anything, it was a gesture of cowardice. Harry’s feet hit the ground and he quickly dismounted, walking across the grass to meet the man directly in the centre of the pitch.

Harry dropped the cupcake when he recognised him. “ _Malfoy?”_

Malfoy smirked and ran a hair through his dyed hair. It was Gryffindor red. “I hope that wasn’t meant for me, Potter,” he said, eyeing the cupcake in the grass. “It would hardly be sporting to throw away your gesture.”

Harry glanced at the ruined cupcake briefly before his eyes returned to Malfoy’s hair. “You look like a Weasley."

Malfoy stopped smirking. “I do not. Take that back.”

“It wasn’t an insult.”

“Oh, of course,” Malfoy said, his face softening and the smirk returning. “You’re quite partial to Weasleys, aren’t you? Ginny. Charlie. Or is it just redheads you like? How very Gryffindor of you.”

Harry blushed. “Charlie and I never– ”

“But you’ve thought about it. I’m quite a talented Legilimens, Potter. You have to be careful what you let sit at the surface of your mind.”

Harry quickly pushed back some of the more humiliating thoughts that had started to run through his head at the sight of Malfoy and tried to remember Snape’s Occlumency lessons. “So this is your grand gesture,” he said cooly (or as cooly as he could with his pink face betraying him) “A bit of hair dye.”

Malfoy frowned. “Yes, because your gesture was so impressive. Cupcakes? Really, Potter?”

“I baked them all without magic.”

“What in Merlin’s name did you do that for?”

“ _And,_ ” Harry continued, seeing Malfoy wasn’t impressed yet, “I iced them all with the Slytherin crest.”

“Shame you ruined mine.”

“Yours didn’t have the crest,” Harry said automatically, and then immediately wished he hadn’t.

Malfoy’s eyes glinted. “A special one for me? Now I’m really sad you ruined it,” he said, pulling out his wand.

“I didn’t– it’s not spec– ” Harry tried to say, but it was too late. Malfoy had already levitated the cupcake into his hand.

Malfoy stared at it for a second, his eyes wide. “My, my, Potter. This  _is_ a big gesture.”

New heat flooded Harry’s face. He’d made it without thinking – if he’d given any real thought to it, he would never have planned to present Malfoy a cupcake decorated with a green snake coiled around a small red heart. “It’s not– ” he tried to explain– “it doesn’t mean any– ”

“Oh, but it does,” Malfoy disagreed. He smiled brightly as if an idea had just come to him. “Oh, wouldn’t that be sporting?”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“We’re supposed to shake hands now before the match starts,” Malfoy said. He took a step closer to Harry.

“Okay…” Harry held out his hand but Malfoy pushed it away. 

He leant in closer still and gently removed Harry’s classes. “Why don’t we give it a bit more spirit?” he whispered.

Harry sucked in a surprised breath as he finally realised Malfoy’s intention. “Yes,” he couldn’t help but agree, “that would be very sporting.”

And Malfoy kissed him.

The crowd blew up immediately, cheering as if the snitch had already been caught. Harry had a brief moment of disappointment when he realised Malfoy had almost certainly outdone him. But he couldn’t hold onto the feeling, not with Malfoy’s lips on his.

Malfoy pulled away too soon, a small smirk on his face. “Good luck then, Potter,” he said, carefully returning Harry’s glasses.

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to form the same words in return.

Malfoy mounted his broom and kicked off the ground, gaining height quickly.

“Wait,” Harry’s mouth yelled out without consulting his brain.

Malfoy paused in the air and turned his head to Harry, his face every bit as red as his hair. That’s what gave Harry the courage.

“Loser buys dinner in Hogsmeade,” he yelled.

Malfoy’s bright smile returned. “Game on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/175427782346/hairdye-blushing-cupcakes)


	37. #drinking games #first kisses #supportive ron

Harry was completely against the party. Not just because of the promise of humiliating drinking games, but the drinking itself too andthe whole having to get out of bed thing.  _Especially_ the whole having to get out of bed thing. He’d managed to avoid the last six weeks of eighth year gatherings by hiding in his wonderfully warm sheets with the invisibility cloak on top. But now Ron had finally caught on and he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

“I know why you’re hiding, mate.”

“I’m not hiding.”

Ron pulled back the invisibility cloak. “Then what’s this for?” Harry tried to grab the cloak back but Ron held it out of reach. “You can’t keep avoiding him.”

“I’m not avoiding h– anyone. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then get dressed.”

Sneaking out of the dormitory at midnight felt silly. It was so late, they should’ve been sneaking back  _in._  But that’s how the gatherings were always scheduled. In the dead of morning when even Filch wasn’t roaming about.

Hufflepuff’s eighth year common room was the most logical choice for the location, partially because the teachers would never suspect it, but mostly because it was closest to the kitchens. Ernie Macmillan had discovered early on in the year that the kitchen housed firewhisky for the teachers with only a simple anti-student spell protecting them. A lucky loophole meant the spell didn’t take into account students returning for an eighth year and so they all had access to a cache of unlimited firewhisky.

When Harry and Ron entered the common room, a loud cheer rang out around the group. Harry hoped it wasn’t to do with him. He spotted Malfoy immediately, perched on a stool by the fire, smiling along with everyone else but not making any noise, like a kid lip syncing in a choir. He wore black robes with long tight sleeves that appeared to dig into his wrists. Unlike most of the other students in the room, half of whom were dressed in their pyjamas, Malfoy looked completely in his element, as if he were nocturnal. Too late, Harry realised he’d been staring. He looked away.

“He looks good,” Ron whispered in Harry’s ear.

Harry felt his cheeks heat up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

* * *

 

At first, it was only drinking. Harry stood with Ron by the drinks table chatting casually but fully conscious of Malfoy behind Ron’s shoulder, still sitting by the fire. Daphne Greengrass had brought a full bottle of firewhisky over for him and had one shoe resting on the footrest of his stool.

“You’re staring.”

“What?”

“You’re staring,” Ron repeated. “It’s not subtle.”

“I don’t– ”

“Know what I’m talking about,” Ron interrupted. “Sure.” He shoved a cup in Harry’s hand. “You need a drink.”

Harry looked down at the firewhisky swirling in the cup. The last time he drank, he’d been very tempted to kiss Malfoy. He’d stared at Malfoy’s lips all night, and when he’d finally walked over to give in to it, Malfoy had made an offhand remark and Harry had ended up shouting at him instead.

_You should see your face right now. It looks like you’re about to kiss me. Just how drunk are you, Potter?_

Harry took a large gulp of firewhisky, wincing at the burn in his throat.

“Feel better?” Ron asked.

Harry nodded, but he couldn’t help but look past Ron again. Malfoy was still talking to Greengrass.

He knew it was coming, but Harry still groaned when Pansy Parkinson announced it was time for truth or dare. “What are we? Twelve?” He muttered to Ron.

Ron only laughed. “You just wait. It’s brilliant.”

Harry wasn’t convinced.

The room converged into a circle with Parkinson at the centre, some on the couches, some cross-legged on the floor. Malfoy hadn’t moved from his stool, but Zabini now sat between him and Greengrass. Harry tried not to be so pleased by that small detail.

“Let’s talk rules,” Parkinson called out seriously.

“We all know the rules!” Dean Thomas said.

“No, you don’t,” Parkinson said, “because you all keep cheating. I know you were lying about McGonagall last week, Dean.”

“Was not!” Dean argued, his face bright red. “Seamus made up that rumour.”

“No more cheating,” Parkison announced. “This time, we play properly.” Then she pulled a small vial from her pocket.

Harry’s stomach dropped.

“What the fuck, Pans?”

Malfoy stood up and strode to the centre of the circle. He whispered something in Parkinson’s ear. She laughed and brushed him away.

“Every player must take a drop of Veritaserum,” She said to the group. “Those are the rules. If you don’t like it– ” she turned her head to Malfoy– “you don’t have to play.”

Malfoy’s lip twitched but he didn’t say anything else, just turned and sat back down on his stool.

Pansy Parkinson made her way around the circle, making sure a drop of the truth potion landed on everyone’s tongue. No one opted out of playing, not even Malfoy.

“Got any secrets, Potter?” Parkinson whispered as she held out the vial to Harry.

“No,” Harry lied just before the Veritaserum hit his tongue.

Parkinson smiled wickedly and moved onto the next person. Harry felt sick. He should have walked away, but he was curious about Malfoy. Ron rubbed his shoulder.

“You alright?”

_Yes_ , Harry tried to say but the word stuck in his throat. “No,” he admitted.

“If you want to go, say the word and we go,” Ron said, and Harry would’ve known he meant it even without the Veritaserum.

“I don’t want– let’s stay.”

Harry had already decided he wasn’t going to choose truth. There were too many questions he didn’t want to answer and right now his mouth would readily betray him. Dares would be easy. He wasn’t too fussed about stripping to his underwear or skinning dipping in the Great Lake. Obviously, they weren’t his favourite 1am Sunday morning activities but if it was that or telling the truth, the choice was simple.

Except nobody was daring anyone to skinny dip in the Great Lake.

Zabini went first, daring Daphne Greengrass to kiss Parvati Patil. Greengrass rolled her eyes and led Parvati into one of the dormitories off the common room.

“What are you doing?” Zabini asked.

Greengrass looked back at him with an innocent smile. “You never specified we had to do it in front of you.”

They returned five minutes later, Parvati’s lipstick significantly lighter than it had been when they entered and Greengrass’s lips bright red.

“New rule,” Parkinson announced. “All dares, unless specified otherwise, must be completed in this room.”

Zabini looked pleased with the update until Greengrass dared him to kiss Neville Longbottom on her turn. Then Justin Finch-Fletchley dared Seamus Finnigan to kiss Dean Thomas. Then Dean chose truth and was asked if he had a crush on Professor McGonagall.

“No,” he said quietly, his face pained. Then his eyes lit up and he started to smile until the Veritaserum made him add, “But I used to.”

After that, it was back to dares again, which were almost always some variation of kissing someone else in the room, as if there was no other possible dare.

Parkinson had shuffled her way into the circle a few spots to the right of Harry – although Harry had never seen her take Veritaserum herself. When it was her turn to ask someone, she leaned around Hermione to stare at Harry.

“Truth or dare?”

He watched her eyes flicker to Malfoy and back to him and panicked. He knew exactly what her dare would be. He changed his answer at the last second.

“Truth.”

Parkinson’s face dropped but only for a second. She tilted her head and smiled at Harry in that way Professors do right before they tell you you’ve earned a T for Troll on your essay. “Why aren’t you choosing dare?”

Harry didn’t have any time to consider his answer before the Veritaserum was speaking for him. “Because I’m worried you’ll dare me to kiss Malfoy.”

Harry took a relieved breath. It wasn’t as bad as he thought. He hadn’t really revealed anything. Of course he wouldn’t want to kiss Malfoy. That would be ridiculous.

“So, that’s the worst dare you could think of?” Malfoy drawled in a voice that wasn’t quite as bored as it was probably intended. “Grow up, Potter.”

“Get fucked, Malfoy,” Harry muttered back automatically. 

Malfoy held up the bottle of firewhisky he’d been nursing all night. “Working on it.”

Harry had no idea what to do on his turn. It seemed like everyone had already kissed everybody in the room and he couldn’t think of any other interesting dares. He looked around the room trying to find someone who wouldn’t mind him daring them something boring. His eyes passed quickly over Malfoy.

“Just pick someone, already,” Justin Finch-Fletchley called out. Hermione shushed him.

“Come on, Harry. Who do you want to pick?” Ernie asked and then threw a hand over his mouth. “Sorry, I didn’t mean– ”

But it was too late. “Malfoy,” Harry’s mouth said. Veritaserum was a bitch.

The room buzzed. Harry took a long sip of his firewhisky. His face felt warm. He hoped to Merlin it wasn’t red.

“Go on then, Potter. Ask me.”

Harry looked up at Malfoy and almost dribbled the firewhisky back into his cup. Malfoy had crossed his legs over and perched his head on his arms, staring down at Harry intently across the circle. Harry quickly composed himself and swallowed.

“Truth or dare,” he said, placing his cup back down. It wobbled but Ron’s hand shot out and grabbed it just in time.

“Malfoy only ever picks truth,” Ron whispered in Harry’s ear. “He always lies, though.”

“Dare,” Malfoy said clearly.

Pansy Parkinson gasped in excitement.

The room seemed to be on edge, everyone leaning forward in the circle waiting for Malfoy’s first dare. Malfoy was staring at Harry with uncomfortable intensity.

“I dare you– ”  _to_   _kiss me._  Harry wasn’t brave enough to say it, but it’s all he could think of. His mind had been wiped clean of every possible dare under Malfoy’s gaze.

“I dare you– ” he started again. The room was getting impatient now, but Malfoy’s intensity held. What could he possibly ask?

Harry cleared his throat. “I dare you– ” his eyes flickered to Malfoy’s tight sleeves– “to show us your Dark Mark.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Harry wanted to take them back. He heard Ron’s sharp intake of breath beside him. For once, Parkinson was silent. It was a terrible thing to ask of Malfoy, even more horrible to dare him.

Malfoy looked down at his left arm through the fabric of his robes.

“Wait,” Harry called out, meaning to take the dare back. But Malfoy held up a hand to silence him.

“The sleeves don’t roll up,” Malfoy said. He looked up at Parkinson who shook her head. He stood up, placed his firewhisky bottle carefully on the stool and started on the buttons at his neck.

Harry watched on, horrified. Not only was he forcing Malfoy to show his Dark Mark, something he had kept hidden so well no one had ever seen it, but he was also forcing him to strip to his underwear in front of the entire eighth year.

The room was silent as Malfoy worked his way down the buttons that spanned from his neck to where his robes brushed against the floor. Harry hated himself for noticing how delicately Malfoy’s long fingers handled the buttons. But he kept focusing on the hands so he wouldn’t look at the rest of Malfoy’s skin as it was slowly revealed. It was bad enough that Harry caused this humiliation, it wouldn’t be fair for him to take any enjoyment from it.

Malfoy unhooked the last button and stood up, shrugging the robe from his shoulders. There was too much skin to avoid now. Malfoy didn’t even seem concerned about his near-nudity. All he wore under the robe were black boxer briefs that clung tight to his thighs–

Harry snapped his head up, away from Malfoy’s underwear. Malfoy peeled the robe back from his arms. Harry caught a flash of black ink before Malfoy turned and placed the robe carefully on his stool. Harry resolutely did not look down at Malfoy’s briefs when he bent slightly forward. And he certainly did not let his eyes linger there until Malfoy turned back around.

Malfoy held out his left arm to the room, his face blank, eyes empty. The Dark Mark wasn’t how Harry expected. He had seen it before – he knew Voldemort’s style well. But Malfoy didn’t just have ink on his arm. At the head of the skull was a huge gaping sore, scabbing at the edges. And where the snake coiled out, Malfoy’s skin was grey and bruised. Harry looked up and met Malfoy’s eyes.

“Happy now?”

“No,” Harry answered honestly.

They stared at each other for a moment longer, Harry held completely by Malfoy’s eyes, until Malfoy turned away and the spell was broken.

Ron nudged Harry with his elbow. “You alright?” He asked again.

“No. But I don’t want to go.”

Malfoy pulled his robe back on but he didn’t bother with the buttons. He perched himself back on his stool, one leg up on the footrest, letting the robe fly out beside him. Harry averted his eyes.

It was Ron’s turn next and when he announced it the whole room groaned and the mood lightened immediately.

“ _Please_  pick someone else this time, Weasley,” Parkinson said. “You can’t keep doing the same dare every week.”

“That wasn’t a rule,” Ron said. He turned to Hermione. “Truth or dare?”

“Say truth,” Neville called out and the room followed in a chant. “Truth, truth, truth.”

Hermione ignored them. “Dare.”

“I dare you– ” more groans– “to kiss the most handsome man in the room.”

Hermione stood up, making a show of assessing each member of the circle.

“Just do it, already,” someone heckled.

Hermione made a beeline for Malfoy.

“Why does everyone have the hots for Malfoy?” Ron called out, pretending to be hurt.

Malfoy’s head snapped up, looking past Hermione to Ron. Harry’s stomach felt tight.

Ron gestured to Padma and Parvati beside him. “I heard these two whispering just now,” he quickly covered (to Harry’s relief).

Malfoy looked away, immediately disinterested and Hermione stopped the pretence and ran to Ron, settling into his lap before finally kissing him. The room groaned again.

The game continued with more dares – mostly kissing – and a couple of truths – mostly related to kissing. Harry would’ve regretted not walking away earlier if it weren’t for Malfoy sitting casually, half-naked on his stool, rolling his firewhisky bottle from hand to hand.

Then it was Malfoy’s turn, and his eyes landed on Harry.

Harry gulped.

“Truth or dare?”

Malfoy had to be planning revenge for Harry’s dare. He couldn’t risk it.

“Truth.”

Malfoy’s lips twitched. He looked around the room and then returned his eyes to Harry. “Why don’t you want to kiss me?”

_Oh fuck_. The words were already forming in Harry’s mouth. He should have chosen dare.

“I want to kiss you more than anything,” he blurted out. He felt heat creeping up his neck. “But I didn’t want you to know that,” the Veritaserum compelled him to add, although it felt like a silly thing to say. It was too late now. Not only Malfoy but the entire eighth year knew. The whole school would probably find out by Monday.

“You want to kiss me?” Malfoy asked, his voice soft and – despite the half-empty firewhisky bottle in his hands – very, very sober.

“You heard him,” Ron said. He stood up, blocking Harry (and his embarrassingly red face) from the rest of the room.  “Don’t be a prick and make him repeat it.” Ron turned to Parkinson. “Let’s call it a night– ”

“Wait,” Malfoy said. “ I need one more turn.”

“You’ve just had your turn,” Ron reminded him. “You can’t– ”

“But I have to dare Potter– ”

“Harry’s already answered your truth. I think that’s enough, don’t you, Malfoy?”

“No, it’s not, I– ”

Harry stood up beside Ron. “Dare,” he said, against his better judgement.

Ron turned to him. “Harry, it’s fine, you don’t have to– ”

“I accept your dare, Malfoy,” Harry said loudly, his voice more confident than he really felt. “Go on.”

Malfoy stood up, passing his firewhisky to Zabini. He walked across the circle to Harry, his robe moving with him, the skin of each leg revealed and hidden again with each step like an endless striptease. He stopped in front of Harry, leaning on one leg so their eyes were at the same height.

“Potter,” he said seriously, “I dare you to kiss me.”

Malfoy’s voice was quiet but it was pretty clear everyone heard anyway from the chorus of gasps and excited whispers that followed. Harry easily blocked them out – Malfoy held his full attention now. He realised it was quite silly to worry about this dare, that he had wanted it all along regardless. Even if nothing further eventuated from it. He really wanted to kiss Malfoy.

So he did.

It started all wrong. They both tilted their heads the same way and  Harry’s mouth landed on far more chin than necessary. It didn’t help that everyone was watching. When they finally got their mouths right, the taste was awful – the Veritaserum left a sharp tang like liquorice – and Malfoy’s mouth was dry from the firewhisky. Harry wasn’t sure if he should be including his tongue yet or if that was too far for a first kiss. He wasn’t sure what he was doing at all.

Then Malfoy’s hands found Harry’s hips and pulled him forward, just as Malfoy’s tongue decided to make the first move. And the kiss didn’t feel so wrong anymore. Now, Harry didn’t hesitate when he felt the urge to run his hands through Malfoy’s hair – he just did it, and enjoyed when Malfoy made a soft sound of approval.

Harry could hear Ron herding people out around them and he felt relief in knowing he wouldn’t have to stop doing  _this_  any time soon.

“Come on, hurry up,” Ron was saying to the room. “Anybody who’s still here in the next five seconds will be bat-bogey hexed by my sister.”

“Ginny’s not even here– ”

“Out!”

“But this is our common– ”

“OUT!”

Harry opened his eyes for a second. The room was clear except for Ron who was scooping up the belongings people had left behind. Their eyes met and Harry tried to smile – which probably didn’t come across all that clearly with Malfoy’s mouth still covering most of his. Ron mouthed “HOLY FUCK” and gave Harry the thumbs up before running out the door. Harry would have to thank him later.

Just as Harry was about to close his eyes, Malfoy opened his and pulled back slightly. He laughed when Harry’s face dropped.

“Kiss me again,” Malfoy said. “If you want.”

Harry realised what Malfoy was doing. He wasn’t daring anymore. He was simply asking. 

“Do  _you_  want?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” the Veritaserum answered for Malfoy. He rolled his eyes and added: “Obviously.”

So with no dares and no audience, Harry kissed him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/175909193946/drinking-games-first-kisses-supportive-ron)


	38. #slytherin dorms #cinnamon allergy #bad jokes

“Malfoy, don’t drink that, it’s got cinnamon in it.”  Harry hadn’t meant to say it. He didn’t even know he was going to say anything at all until the words had already left his lips. By then, it was too late to censor himself.

Malfoy paused, the bottle at his lips, and regarded Harry with a curious expression. The rest of the circle watched on, their game of truth or dare, hardly begun, and already interrupted.

“So?” Ron broke the silence. “What does it matter if it’s got cinnamon?”

Malfoy’s eyes never left Harry. “How did you know?” He asked.

Harry thought quickly. “It’s spiced firewhisky. Seamus and I found– ”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Malfoy interrupted. He spoke to Harry as if there was no one else in the room. In reality, they were surrounded by eighth years from every house, all squeezed together on the floor of the Gryffindor Common Room for a game Hermione had initiated. And to Harry’s surprise – she had secretly invited the Slytherins.

“Can someone please explain what’s going on here?” Ron asked loudly.

“Draco has a cinnamon allergy,” explained Pansy, clapping her hands together excitedly.

“How did you know?” Malfoy asked Harry again, ignoring their audience.

“I don’t know. I just do.” The same way he knew the exact gel Malfoy used on his hair every morning (Merlin’s Magic), the same way he knew how Malfoy liked his eggs (poached), and the same way he knew Malfoy’s favourite colour (red).

Ron, although slow on the uptake, came to Harry’s rescue as usual. “Malfoy must have mentioned it before.”

Of course, Pansy wasn’t about let Harry off the hook so easily. “When would Draco have ever told– ”

Malfoy stood up abruptly, the spiced firewhisky discarded on the floor. Everyone turned to him and Harry was grateful for the reprieve from probing eyes. “I’m not staying sober while the rest of you get plastered. I’ll grab some regular firewhisky from my dorm.”

“Do you need someone to come with you?” Pansy asked sweetly.

Harry saw the trap before Malfoy did, but he had no way of warning him. “Yeah,” Malfoy said, “that’d be– ”

“Excellent,” Pansy interrupted. She turned to Harry. “Potter, you should go with him.”

Malfoy realised his mistake too late. “Wait, I thought– ”

This time it was Hermione who interrupted. “It’s Harry’s fault for only bringing spiced firewhisky anyway. He should help,” she said, sharing a smile with Pansy.

Harry looked back up at Malfoy, waiting for his reaction. Sure, they’d been tricked into it but Malfoy could always storm off without him. It’s not as if their show of being civil to each other throughout the year had fooled anyone.

“Fine,” Malfoy huffed, crossing his arms impatiently. He addressed Harry without looking at him. “Potter, you coming?”

Harry stood up, avoiding the eyes that returned to him once more. “Um, yeah, sure.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The walk down to the Slytherin dungeons started quietly. Harry was grateful for some time to think. He needed to land on a reasonable explanation for knowing about Malfoy’s cinnamon allergy in case Malfoy asked him again. He figured “I don’t know” wouldn’t cut it a second time.

Malfoy broke the silence as they waited for the final moving staircase down to the ground floor to swing into position. “You have mild hay fever and you’re allergic to shellfish.”

Harry snapped his head to Malfoy. “How– ”

Malfoy stared back blankly. “I don’t know.”

The staircase locked into place and they kept walking

“You don’t like pineapple on pizza,” Harry returned.

“Of course not. I’m not a barbarian,” Malfoy countered. He paused for a second and then fired back. “Your favourite dessert is treacle tart with– ” Malfoy grimaced– “strawberry and peanut butter ice-cream.”

“Yours is peppermint slice.”

“You like the rain.”

“You hate the sun.”

“That’s a fairly obvious one, Potter. Anyone who's seen my skin would know that.” They reached the Dungeons and Malfoy whispered a password to what looked like an ordinary wall but immediately sprung open at Malfoy’s words. “Your hair gets messier the madder you are,” Malfoy said over his shoulder as he led Harry into the Slytherin Common Room.

Harry automatically lifted a hand to his head. “That can’t be true.”

Malfoy shrugged. He disappeared down a spiral staircase by what looked to be a floor to ceiling aquarium, but Harry suspected was the middle of the Great Lake. Harry followed to find Malfoy bending over a trunk. His hair had fallen forward revealing the pale skin at the back of his neck and the pink edges around his ears.

“You have a sensitive spot beneath your left ear,” Harry said, and then immediately wished he hadn’t.

“How could you possibly– ” Malfoy swivelled around, a light pinkness growing at the edge of his cheeks. “I have no such spot. Perhaps you’re not as clever as you thought.”

Harry watched Malfoy’s blush grow. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” Malfoy said, but his face had now turned a dark shade of red.

“Prove it,” Harry suggested recklessly.

“How do you expect– ” Malfoy’s eyes widened– “Don’t even think about it, Potter.”

Harry looked around the room, suddenly feeling out of his depth. “So, where’s this firewhisky?”

“There is none. I just wanted to find a way to lure you into my dormitory.”

Harry whipped his head back around to Malfoy. “You– I– “ He started.

Malfoy held up his arm and dangled the bottle at Harry’s eye level.

“Oh.” Harry wiped his hands on his jeans. They’d suddenly become very sweaty. “Very funny.”

Malfoy dropped onto a bed – was it his? – and twisted the cap of the bottle open.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked.

“I’m not nearly drunk enough to go back into that deathtrap.” Malfoy took a large gulp and swallowed with a grimace. “Let me catch up to you.”

“I’m feeling pretty sober actually,” Harry said, staring at Malfoy’s throat.

Malfoy held out the bottle. “Have a drink then, Potter.”

Harry hesitated and then accepted the bottle. He took a swig and dropped down next to Malfoy. On Malfoy’s bed. He passed the bottle back.

“Thanks,” Malfoy said after a while.

“For what?”

“Warning me about the cinnamon.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry about that. If I’d known you were coming, I wouldn’t have brought– ”

“And why would you expect your arch-enemy to show up to your little Gryffindor party? I get it, Potter. It’s fine.”

“You’re not my  _arch_ -enemy.”

Malfoy snorted and took a large swig of the firewhisky. “Granger’s less uptight than I thought.”

“Well, you don’t know her.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying, Potter.”

“Oh.”

“You’re  _more_  uptight than I thought,” Malfoy added.

“Hey!”

“I’m serious,” Malfoy said. He passed the firewhisky back to Harry. They’d almost drunk half the bottle. “Sometimes it’s like there’s a ten-foot wand shoved right up your– ”

“Hang on, look who’s talking!”

“Potter, I may be adventurous, but I can assure you I’d be quite content with ten  _inches_ at most.”

The firewhisky Harry had only just swigged came dribbling out of his mouth. He quickly wiped his face with the back of his hand.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows and snatched the bottle back. “I’m clearly wasting my material here. That was a joke. You know what a joke is right?”

“Um, yeah.”

Malfoy kept his eyes on Harry as he took a small sip of firewhisky. “Then next time, _laugh_ , Potter. It’s polite.”

It might have been the firewhisky talking – who was Harry kidding? – but Malfoy’s gaze was hypnotic. Harry chuckled weakly.

Malfoy smirked. “Not now, you daft idiot.” He pushed his hair back behind his ear. Harry’s eyes followed.

And then – and this was certainly not just the firewhisky’s influence – Harry was leaning forward and gliding his hand up Malfoy’s neck, letting his thumb brush over  _that spot_  just below Malfoy’s left ear. Malfoy shivered and leaned into Harry’s touch.

“I knew you were lying,” Harry said.

Malfoy pulled back, Harry’s hand dropping between them. “That doesn’t prove anything. You could touch me anywhere and I’d– ” Malfoy stopped himself.

“You’d what?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Malfoy said, looking down. “Another joke that would go over your head I suspect.”

“Try me.”

“You’ll laugh,” Malfoy said to his knees.

“Unless it’s a bad joke.”

Malfoy laughed, but it was hollow. “Well, it is bad. Tragic, really. But you’ll laugh anyway.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Malfoy looked up into Harry’s eyes, his voice a whisper, “how could I think I’d ever have a chance with you?”

Harry stared back, ignoring the roaring in his ears. “Do you see me laughing?”

“I know that face,” Malfoy said slowly, his face breaking into a disbelieving smile. “You’re going to kiss me.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

When they returned to the party much later, with an almost empty bottle of firewhisky, all eyes were on them. Well, on Malfoy actually.

Harry knew Malfoy had a particularly charming face – he had spent the better part of an hour worshipping it with kisses – but it didn’t make sense for the whole room to suddenly find the same appreciation. Harry turned to Malfoy in confusion and all became clear.

“Your lips,” Harry whispered. The swelling must have started on the walk back.

It was too late. The room of eighth years were already making the obvious connection.

“Malfoy didn’t have any of the spiced firewhisky,” Hermione said.

Pansy gladly supplied the rest: “But Potter did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [like or reblog this post on tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/post/176137688746/slytherin-dorms-cinnamon-allergy-bad-jokes)


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